


Fated

by yourloved



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Multi, Prince Gendry, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourloved/pseuds/yourloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya likes her life in Winterfell with only her family and the winter snows around her. But as the royal visit approaches will she find a new friend in the young Prince... Will fate control her or will she make her own fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone!! Trying to be more creative so I thought I would write a fic with my OTP!! Please tell me if you like it and I will continue!! Both praise and constructive criticism are welcome :)

Chapter One 

She had to hurry quietly along the walls to remain undetected. If anyone noticed her missing, she would be dragged back to sitting on a stool and being made to sit and gossip with all those stupid, boring ladies. And sew. To Arya, that was the absolutely worst aspect for being forced back into that room. She utterly and completely detested sewing. She was defiantly no perfect lady like Sansa.   
But that had never mattered to her. She had always been untameable. She had always had a wildness, an impulsivity that made her more a wild Stark wolf of the North than a refined Tully fish of further south like her composed mother and sister. Even now, Sansa was probably preoccupying her mother with chatter of whether she should wear her light blue dress with white detailing or her white dress with blue detailing for the impending arrival of the royal party. She rolled her eyes again at that thought.  
She glanced around the corner she was standing at, peeking to ensure herself that their was no awaiting guard, family member or servant that would spot her immediately and then hoist her back to that insufferable room where she would be forced to meet her mothers disapproving glare.   
She looked down the hall and seeing it completely empty continued on her way to the practice yard. She was almost there, the double doors that led out to the yards where her brothers would most likely be, were within sight. She hurried her pace a little, anxious to be out of the suffocating hall.   
“And where are you going, my child?” a voice inquired firmly from behind her.   
She froze quickly, a deer caught in a trap. Slowly turning, she looked up to see the slightly amused face of her father not far behind her, flanked by Jory.   
“Father” she said smiling, “I was just going… well I was just going down to…”   
She looked up at her Father, biting her lip.   
Arya really had to practice her lying abilities and skills. She never had been an excellent liar, or even a remotely good lair, too blunt and straightforward for the delicate intricacies that lying entailed.   
“You, my dear one, were going down to the practise yards to find your brothers” her Father said, looking quietly amused, “Oh Arya, should you not be with your Mother or sister, or perhaps even Septa Mordane?”   
When he brought up her Septa, Arya felt herself suddenly become quite desperate for the pity that her father so commonly bestowed on her, anything not to be forced back into the care of that irritating woman.   
“No please Father, do not send me back to that hell. It is worse than the deepest of the seven hells. Father, I just wanted to go and see how Bran was doing with the archery that Jon and Robb, and I think Theon, were teaching him. Really, I do not think that anyone will miss me,” she fumbled out all in one giant breath, “Also Father, it is more of a danger for you to make me return to the sewing room with those women than in the training yard. I think I shall soon begin utilising my needle as a weapon if I hear of the Kings arrival or a sigh of hope of the Prince’s handsomeness once more. Father, I will become a danger to those ladies. Either I will stab them with a needle or I will end myself. Please Father, do not make me return to them.”  
Her father had listened to her whole speech bemusedly as the twinkle in his eye had slowly increased as she continued rambling incessantly. He bent down so he was closer to Arya’s eye level. That was something Arya had always loved about her Father. He always seemed so big and strong, a truly strong leader to the pack that was her family. Yet, he was also at the same time so loving, never making her feel small and irrelevant like her elder sister, and sometimes her mother, constantly did.  
“Oh Arya, you are truly wild” he said looking amused, “Go silly girl before I change my mind and call your mother who will soon be looking frantically for you. Go and enjoy yourself”  
She looked up at him. Though she had been counting on this being her Father’s reaction, it was almost too good to be true. But as he gave her a push in the direction of the door, she did not doubt him and ran towards the freedom he was offering her.   
She tried not to question why her father gave her such allowances, but she knew why in her heart. She was a constant reminder of his wild sister, the one who had caused so much havoc throughout Westeros with merely her beauty that rivalled a winter rose and her essence of utterly unrestrainable wildness. But she pushed that out of her mind as her face was touched the mid-morning sun as she reached the gate that led into the practise yard.   
Her brothers were duelling. Bran sat watching them, his arrow and bow thrown carelessly behind him, forgotten in the intensity of the duel in front of him.   
Their sword kept striking, the steel hissing under the force of the hits. Jon, her favourite brother was the better of the two, anybody could see that. He hit with more precision and strategy. There was a thought behind every move he made, a strategic end to it. Whereas, Robb was slightly more reckless, more carefree. He did not have to prove himself like Jon felt he had to. He was an heir, while Jon was a bastard. He could do no wrong.   
Robb brought his blade down, forcing Jon to turn to face her in order to block the blow. His eyes immediately caught her and he laughed, lowering his blade and gesturing to Robb the new presence that they had acquired.   
Robb turned and let out a laugh as both boys made forth towards her.   
“Good Gods, Arya” cried Robb, “This must be a new record even for you, you normally take a lot longer to escape from sewing practise. How ever did you do it, sister, particularly with the upcoming visit of the Royal Family?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.   
She laughed, rolling her eyes at her borthers question, “Robb, just because you cannot escape Mother’s scathing glaze, it does not mean that that same flaw falls to all her children. I simply walked out when her back was turned, praising Sansa for one stich or another,” she said languidly.   
Robb frowned while Jon let out a bark of laughter at her criticism. She had always been the best at sneaking around, though more specifically it was usually sneaking out that she did, most likely owing to her small and skinny stature.  
She always just wanted to be with her brothers, fighting and laughing, not sitting around in a circle on dainty stools with women who were chattering and gossiping back and forth. She wanted to ride from dawn to dusk, go swimming in the Godswood pool whenever she pleased. She wanted to stay with her favourite brother, her bastard brother, Jon.   
She looked up at Jon, smiled, and started walking towards him.   
Jon looked at her, eyes narrowing in certainty that she was up to some mischief, but he played along, smiling at her, leaning over and ruffling her hair while saying “what are you up to, little sister?”  
She smiled as innocently as she could as she leant up to wrap her arm around his shoulder.   
“Nothing Jon, I just wanted a hug from my favourite brother” she said as he looked uneasily at her.  
Just as he leant down to return her hug, albeit very suspiciously, she moved her other hand down and swiped the practice sword he had been holding right out of his hand.   
She turned, forming into a position of a warrior, the practice sword, which was slighty too big for her tiny hands, poised over her shoulder ready to attack.   
Robb and Bran laughed, they knew their sister too well, as did Jon while ducking to try and retrieve the sword his sister had stolen from him.   
Arya giggled and darted around almost escaping from his clutches but he got her in the end and lifted her up as she laughed.   
Suddenly, someone cleared a throat from behind them all, and all four siblings turned quickly to face the storm behind them.   
Lady Catelyn was standing there, hands on her hips with an expression of utter distaste marring her usually beautiful features. Slightly behind her left shoulder, hiding from her brothers and sister, was Sansa almost mirroring the expression, though Arya thought while her Mother expression was only disgust, Sansa’s was pinched with a slight hint of envy as she gazed on her siblings.   
Arya often thought how beautiful her Mother was. Even in her older days, her hair still hung with an auburn lustre envied by young girls and her face remained beautiful, particularly when she laughed, with her twinkling blue eyes that normally shone with either mirth or amusement when directed at her youngest daughter. But that would all change if Jon was present within her eye line. Her visage would curl in utter distaste and an enraged expression followed any of his actions with a deep disapproval. It always angered Arya but she was not prepared to broach the subject whilst her Mother looked at her with that disapproval.   
“Lady Arya Stark, what are you doing? I have been searching for you for almost nigh on an hour, I do not know why it did not occur to me to search the practice yards earlier. Where else would ones wild daughter who needs to be disciplined be?” her anger permeated the yard as she spoke.   
Arya had been caught by her Mother, now she could do nothing. Had it been anyone else she would have ran to the refuge of the Godswood or the stable to saddle her horse. However, her Mother was just too terrifying in this state for her to run from. So she turned to pleading.   
“Mother, please don’t make me go back, please. I cannot bear to hear any more gossip or mutterings of the royal family. Please,” she begged.   
Lady Catelyn frown deepened as she listened, she began reaching out a hand, or claw as it seemed to Arya, to pull her back inside “Arya Stark, you are coming back inside with me now. Do not trying begging again and come along quickly”.   
With that, Arya felt herself being pulled back into the security of Winterfell in between her Mother and Sansa.   
“Honestly Arya,” her Mother muttered, “You are an absolute mess. Dirt here and mud there. Can you not keep one dress clean and untorn? The Royal Family will be here any day now and you still insist on running around in unbefitting clothes.”   
“Why should I be dressed nicely, I am not looking to impress anyone, am I?” she said indignantly, “I am more excited to meet King Robert, he was a very skilled warrior was he not Mother, and the Imp. I want to meet him too, see if I am taller than one person other than Rickon.”   
Her Mother let out a small laugh of amusement. Looking at her younger daughter, who showed so little of her own features, she said “And what if the Prince or some other wealthy man takes a liking to you. You would not be the first Stark to have a royal seek her hand.”   
“Don’t be silly Mother,” Arya chided, “Sansa will be the one that Prince Gendry takes a liking too. She’s beautiful and talented at the more feminine arts. I am neither beautiful or feminine, Mother, I merely want to be left alone at Winterfell with my brothers.”   
Catelyn looked down at her during her whole speech with a look that Arya could only discern as pity and sympathy.   
Catelyn reached over to her and stroked her hair, “My love, you are as beautiful as the winter snows that surround Winterfell…”   
“Which have mud ravelled throughout them” said Arya as she tartly interrupted.  
Her mother gave her a look that silenced her, leaning in she whispered, “Now my child, you must never ever repeat this to anyone, particularly not your sister, but Arya, in my youth when I looked like a mirror image to your elder sister, I had but a duel fought over me. However, in your Aunt’s youth, that Aunt who you resemble so closely, well my love, she had a war fought in her honour. Trust me, my girl, you may not think anything of your wild beauty at the tender age of fourteen but one day you will take the world a storm.”   
Arya looked up at her Mother, looked at her loving face. She was grateful that she said that, her heart filled with an indescribable warmth that she could only think of to be love.   
“Thank-you Mother, you are very kind.”  
“It is true, my darling. Now go, I will let you escape for today. But I have a feeling that tomorrow the King will arrive so view this as your last day of freedom, and enjoy it.”  
Arya face lit up with a grin and she scampered off back to the practise yards, not heeding how true the words were. This would be her last day of freedom as fate would have its way.


	2. Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is another chapter!! hoping you have all liked my story a lot so far. I am going to try and update once a week by Sunday! Please tell me what you all think!!

Chapter 2 

Normally when brushing through her red strands, Sansa would devote herself to untangling very knot and smoothing every thread of her thick hair. But today she did not dwell on such trivial desires. Today she thought only of the King’s visit with his family, and by family, Sansa only thought of the young Prince who would be at Winterfell within a couple of hours.   
Would he be handsome, she wondered, would he be gallant and sweep her off her feet, take her to King Landing to be his Princess and eventual Queen after having fallen instantly in love with her. Would he make her his Queen of Love and Beauty at the next tournament. She would be as beautiful in crown of flowers as a crown of gold, she mused. She truly hoped so. A golden Prince on a white destrier to take her away to be his golden Princess.   
A knock interrupted her pensive state, startling her to back into the present. She turned in her seat, calling for the person to enter, as her dear Mother walked in to the room and came to stand behind her, resting a pale hand on Sansa’s shoulder. She smiled gently and pried the brush from Sansa’s hand, beginning the process of brushing anew.   
“How are you today, my lovely girl?” she asked.   
“I am well, Mother. I am just preparing for the King’s arrival. I am so very excited!” she said keenly.   
“I know, my daughter, you have been looking forward to the visit since it was announced. I am here to make you presentable, not that you need much help with that, my love. You are so beautiful,” she replied, smiling.   
Sansa smiled prettily at her mother endearing comment, however this turned to a frown as a realisation dawned over Sansa.   
“But Mother, if I can always be presentable and beautiful, then why are you here and not a servant or Septa Mordane. Is there a reason why you are here specifically today?”   
Her Mother smiled serenely down at her and gently began braiding her hair.   
“My Darling, what are the words of my own house, my fathers house?”   
“Family, Duty, Honour” Sansa recited dutifully.   
“Correct. Now as I did when I married your father, you must remember these words during the King’s visit. You now have sixteen years behind you, my love, I was hoping that perhaps the upcoming Royal visit may led to a betrothal between you and a noble Lord. Hopefully, a respectable and good match to a kind man.”  
Sansa took a deep breath trying to cover her immediate excitement at the prospect of a betrothal.   
“What about one of the Princes, could I not be promised to one of them?” she questioned excitedly.   
Her mother looked down at her, a sly smile peeking out of the placid mask she had arranged her face into.   
“Perhaps, my darling. Only time will tell. Your father is reluctant to give away any of his children into matrimony, so only time will tell,” she said quite mysteriously.   
Sansa smiled, a small show of the pure elation bubbling in her heart and soul. She peeked a look out the window, which faced the road where the King’s party would arrive hoping that she would see the flags of the crowned stag of House Baratheon, but her smile soured as she saw something or someone just below her window.   
“Mother, look, its Arya, she’s probably trying to escape again,” Sansa said, frowning.   
Her mother glanced out the window where her youngest daughter was walking, almost running, out towards her brothers and the bastard. Then Arya stopped and started. Suddenly she was running at a great speed towards the gates of Winterfell with an angry Septa Mordane on her heels, everyone around them roaring with laughter at little Arya Underfoot’s great daring escape.   
Sansa’s face had slowly transformed into a disapproving sneer as she watch the scene play out. She looked up at her Mother who looked both annoyed yet amused by the young girl.   
“Mother, you must make sure to control Arya while the King and his family are here. Please do not let her ruin everything with her disgusting habits. The King and Queen will be disgusted and they will never let me marry any Prince, or any lord or knight. Please Mother, please,” Sansa pleaded with her mother.   
“Sansa, do not worry. Your sister will be approved of very much I think, particularly by the King,” Catelyn said with a dreamy look in her eyes.  
“Why Mother,” Sansa nonplussed, “She is not well-mannered or kind, or at all beautiful.”  
Catelyn looked at her elder daughter with anger.   
“Your sister is beautiful, you know it though she may not, Sansa. Do not let your jealously blind you from the truth. As for the King’s approval of Arya, never you worry my dear daughter, do not worry. It will become apparent.”  
With that she finished her daughter’s braids in a contemplative silence while Sansa sat both ashamed and confused.   
As Sansa had finially resolved to question her mother further, a horn sounded from the gate below. Sansa looked straight to her mother’s eyes in the looking glass, her face conveying the state of complete eagerness that featured within her mind.   
“They are here Mother, we must hurry, oh we must,” Sansa almost yelled in pure excitement. She looked once more in the looking glass, to ensure she was as beautiful as she was famed to be.   
“Yes my darling, I must go. Please come down to the courtyard as soon as you can. Also if you could find you sister, that would be excellent. I must go” and with that, her mother passed through the door, her hurried footsteps taking her down to the courtyard.   
Sansa’s eyes flittered from the door of her bedchambers back to the looking glass.   
Time to attract a Prince, she thought smiling, time to be the perfect lady. Well, at least Arya will help in that regard being so unladylike, there would be no comparison, she mused spitefully, as she hurried out of her chambers. 

 

Arya had been dragged back to her chambers, washed, cleaned, had her hair pulled and brushed and finally been stuffed into a tight fitted dress that allowed her no room for escape. Thus naturally Arya was currently in a very resentful mood.   
The only consolation was that after she had been dressed into a silver gown that pushed up her breasts too high and allowed her no room to walk, she was left alone to find her brothers. However, when she could not find them as they were probably preparing, she went out into the Godswood in hopes of escaping the constant stressed bustle of Winterfell as the King’s party came closer.   
The Godswood were beautiful this time of year, she thought serenely.   
The pond beneath the angry gaze of the weirwood tree was a sparkling blue and the red leaves of the surrounding trees were covered in very little snow, rather having a thin glaze of ice over them, giving them a ethereal glow.   
The one place Arya always felt calm was the Godswood. It was a sanctuary of mediation for all true Starks. As Arya knelt at the bottom of the weirwood tree, closing her eyes she felt a feeling of complete peace invade her senses. She was not a faith driven person but she did enjoy the peace she gained here.   
As she prayed, she heard footsteps, or more likely hooves clapping on the dirt floor of the woods. Thinking it was her father, or one of her brothers trotting back towards Winterfell, she tried to remain in mediation to the Old Gods until they passed. Neither her brothers nor her father would interrupt her time of prayer, knowing how rare it was. But still the steps came closer, until they stopped not far from her.   
She snapped her eyes open, and turned, eyes wildly searching for the source of noise that had disrupted her calm moment, an extremely rare occurrence for Arya.   
Her eyes landed on a boy, or really a man, a tall, strong-looking man, standing not far from her and staring directly at her holding a beautiful black stallion by a reign. As her eyes met his bright blue orbs, a small smile spread over his face, as he bowed slightly, inclining his head toward her.   
“I am sorry to interrupt your time of prayer, my lady,” he said in a pleasant voice, “But the beauty emanating from you as you knelt awed me. I shall leave you now”.   
Arya’s face slowly morphed into a frown at his last words and she began to struggle to her feet.   
“What? Don’t be stupid. Who are you and what are you doing here in the Godswood?” she inquired aggressively, taking a step towards the boy.   
“Ah, so these are the famed Godswoods. You know I always desired to see them for myself, the descriptions given by others never satisfied me. But it is beautiful here,” the boy mused, looking around him.  
“Who are you?” Arya demanded once again but the boy just gave her a grin and moved closer into the woods allowing Arya time to observe him properly as he regarded the ancient trees.   
He was very tall, well-built like a strong blacksmith. He was not dark skinned but more a tanned colour than her pale as ice skin pallet. His black hair had been carefully trimmed to be at his nape, but Arya could tell that it had an untameable messiness to it, like it was constantly being ruffled. His clothes were dirty to the degree that Sansa would have been disgusted had she been present.   
“I am sorry, my lady, I was just riding, I will leave soon. I just saw the pool and wanted to water my horse,” he said still looking around in wonderment until his eyes fixated back on her.   
Arya was utterly transfixed by his eyes. They were as blue as what she had always imagined the seas of the Sapphire Isle of Tarth to be, home of Lady Brienne the Beauty. Arya was one to appreciate blood and girt, but the beauty of his eyes drew her in.  
So she quickly looked away.   
“Who are you” Arya repeated.  
He laughed, a full jovial laugh.   
“I think that in time you will know, my lady. Why are you out here all on your own? Should you not be inside sewing or some such?” he questioned.   
Arya rolled her eyes and said guardedly “I have never been one for sewing at all, or gossiping. I prefer being out here or in the practise yards.”  
“I understand the Godswoods, my lady but the practise yards, very interesting. Do you try your delicate hand at swordplay?” he said slightly mockingly.  
“Don’t call me that, stupid,” she snapped, “And so you know, I would whip you into shape if you ever crossed swords with me.” And with that she gathered her skirts and started to stalk off in a huff.   
“My lady, please stop for a second. I did not mean to offend you,” he explained apologetically, “I have never truly met a girl who was a swordsman, I mean, swordswoman. I have often encouraged my own younger sister to explore more than simply the feminine arts like yourself. So please do not misunderstand me, I would encourage your pursuit of swordplay.”   
Arya looked at him, stared at him, trying to discern whether or not he was truly being serious. She lifted her chin up and looked up at him with cold composure and defiance.  
He smiled and walked directly over to her. When he was standing directly before her, he lifted her hand up as if to kiss the back of it in apology, a common pastime that Arya decided she would allow him to fulfil. Though she decided mischievously that she might withdraw her hand at the last minute, so he kissed his own palm, something that she had done several times with other men.   
However, just as she thought he was about to kiss the back of her hand and she was preparing to pull back her hand, he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss, that spanned slightly too long for what was proper, to the middle of her palm. She knew instantly that she would feel the warmth of that kiss for many minutes after it ended, as his lips pressed to the sensitive skin of her palm. He then carefully folded her fingers over the place where he had kissed her palm, as if to ensure she had caught the kiss, and bowed once more.   
“Goodbye, my lady,” he whispered intimately to her and then turned around and walked back to his horse and mounted it, shooting a smile her way before he rode off the way he had came.   
Arya paused. She did not know how to react. She had never been treated like that, never felt so at ease to let a person apart from family, particularly a man, get so close to her.   
No, she shook her confusion off putting it to the back of her mind, I will not think about it.   
Another horn sounded in the distance, the King was arriving.   
Her mother would not be happy for her to be later than she already was, so she picked up her skirts and hurried off towards Winterfell.


	3. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeyeyey y'all!! here is an update, i have settled on updating every wednesday if I can. However, I will not be updating next week as I HAVE SCHOOOLIEEEESSS!! (an Australian thing which is like a week where we celebrate ending school) i hope you like this chapter, please tell me what you think :)

Chapter Three

The North was as stunning as it was untamed; Gendry reflected as he rode back from his visit to the Godswood, surveying the North from horseback. He and his younger siblings had decided that they quite liked the North as soon as the first linings of snow appeared on the edges of the King’s Road. He liked the untamed beauty of the mountainous terrain. He liked the constant snowfall despite the frozen temperature it incited. And now he knew that he really liked Northern women.  
His desire to escape his younger brothers whining of his utter hated of the North and his father retelling of old battle stories had driven him to riding ahead before the party. However, the occurrence of coming across the Godswoods had been an interesting turn of the events which allowed him to stumble across an even more interesting creature.  
While riding his horse, Dalliance, he had seen a pool in the distance by chance. The pool had glittered in the most alluring way possible, beckoning him nearer, drawing him like a moth to the flame. Almost like he was fated to go to it. The pool and its blue crystal like beauty had captured all his attention at first, but that had all changed when he noticed something much more enticing, a figure who remained unmoving at the bottom of a tree which had a terrifying face of sadness.  
He couldn’t see her face but she was still a sight to behold, a vision of pale winter beauty in a silver dress. So demure and sweet. She only grew more beautiful as she had faced him, eyes wildly enraged from having being disturbed by any person, revealing that despite her appearance there was nothing particularly demure about her at all.  
In reflection, he really should not have flirted so boldly with her but alas; Gendry was his father’s son, hence kissing her palm, provoking her, was too tempting. Though he did not drink until dusk everyday or be constantly in the company of whores like his father had since his youth, he certainly did enjoy women. He was a man, a young boy with raging urges inside of him, having seen one and eight namedays pass. Desire had struck him like a forked bolt of lightning on seeing that particular girl. He desired her in an almost primal way the moment he had laid eyes on her, he was just completely engulfed in want. It was her fire that he liked, he decided, fire that was communicated by just her beautiful eyes.  
But it is no use, he thought glumly, she was probably a stewards daughter or some such and he was most likely to, if his father got his way which he inevitably would, be betrothed to the Lady Sansa to cement the crowned House Baratheon’s ties with the North.  
He sighed, what a travesty this would all be, most likely another ill-fated, loveless marriage if Sansa and he were incompatible.  
Once Gendry had finally caught pace with his father and his guards, he was immediately called out for having been missing for so long.  
His father, on being notified of his eldest sons presence once again in the party, laughed and turned around on his horse as far as his huge belly would allow him too.  
“Boy,” the King yelled jovially, “Gendry, where are you, boy? Ah, there you are. What were you doing that took you an hour, lad? Your brother here had to take your place.”  
Gendry spurred forward to his father’s side in order to enable him to talk, looking at him with a tolerance that he had acquired over his life in dealing with him.  
“I was fine, Father. Just riding, you understand. Young blood cannot sit still,” he said amicably.  
He immediately regretted his choice of words as Robert burst into a loud, booming laughter that could probably have been heard from here to the wall.  
“Young blood being active, eh. You are most defiantly my son out of all your brothers and sisters. Don’t worry boy, I will soon find a wife to settle your young blood,” he joked.  
Gendry smiled stiffly and nodded at his father. He glanced over at his younger brother who looked extremely bored trotting along next to their Uncle Jaime, the Kingslayer. When he focused back on his father, however, he noticed that the King had acquired a pensive state as something caught his eye. Gendry turned to see what had reduced his father to a most unusually quiet state. It was Winterfell.  
The great castle loomed in the distance, domineering and strong, nothing like the pretty castles of the South that were built for comfort and arrogance rather than defence and practicality. Whilst not a pretty sight, Winterfell permeated an innate strength which allowed it to match the beauty of the North through its might. It was surely a sight to behold to anyone.  
“There it is, my son. No one ever forgets their first glance of Winterfell. I remember as clear as a bright summer day the first time that Ned and I rode fast towards it. Towards my Lyanna.”  
His father sighed, and then trotted slightly faster as if to get to his dead love. Gendry in that moment felt a stab of pity for the Robert Baratheon that lost his true love, the Lady Lyanna Stark. Who had rose up in rebellion in defence of her.  
However as quickly as that pity was born, it vanished as he remembered all the times his father had bruised his mother in the her name, all because he was too preoccupied loving the memory of Lyanna Stark than the flesh and blood Cersei Lannister.  
Feeling slinters of guilt slithering through his body, Gendry hung back to catch up with the coach that carried his Mother and two younger siblings.  
As he rode alongside the wheelhouse, his younger sister noticed him and right away smiled and waved up at him, only pausing to yank at her mothers arm to draw her attention to her eldest son who was riding next to them.  
His Mother looked up, her usually cold, green eyes warming immediately with warmth so close to love before presenting an exterior almost as cold as the North. Gendry had never had a doubt that his mother loved him in her own way. After all, Cersei Lannister loved her family, and he was her eldest son. But he also knew that he was not her preferred child. That was his younger brother, Joffery. He reminded her too much of the man who had fathered him, a man who disgraced and shamed her so often. His likeness to his father, while all her other children were clearly Lannisters, was something that she could not forgive.  
“When should we finally arrive at the gates of Winterfell, my love. My little darlings here are freezing?” Cersei questioned coldly, as despite her endearment her words held no warmth.  
“The King is just passing through the gates as we speak, my lady. I must hurry to catch up with him, but I wanted to ensure the comfort of you and my brother and sister,” he said, sparing a grin for Myrcella and the sleeping Tommen.  
When he glanced back at his mother, he thought he saw for a second a glimpse of pride and love in her eyes for the care that he always showed for Myrcella and Tommen, but it was gone quickly, hidden.  
“Of course, my child, go and we shall see you inside the gates of this Northern hell”  
Rolling his eyes, he nodded and quickly veered his horse to next to his Uncle Jamie, behind his father, just as the whole of Winterfell bowed in his father’s presence.  
He looked around him at the castle looming over the courtyard that they were standing in as his father got off his horse to greet a stern looking man who he guessed to be Ned Stark. But he kept looking around, amazed by the architecture and beauty that emanated from Winterfell. The cold beauty was truly fantastic in comparison to the emptiness of the Southron castles.  
However, his attention was demanded as he was called after his Mother to greet the Starks.  
As he walked closer to the party, he could hear his father.  
“Ah yes, Ned this is my eldest son and heir, Prince Gendry. I know it is shocking, Ned, it is like another young myself, he resembles me so closely, doesn’t he,” his father commented with pride.  
“Yes very closely,” commented a quiet voice, the voice of Ned Stark.  
Ned Stark was both nothing and everything like Gendry had imagined. He was tall with a long face and grey eyes that looked slightly familiar. His features were cold but regardless, held warmth long forgotten at court.  
Gendry bowed, offering his hand to shake Lord Starks hand.  
“It is an honour, Lord Stark. I have heard stories of you, your battles and the famed Winterfell for my entire life. It is an honour to be here,” Gendry said sincerely.  
Lord Stark bowed in return to his sentiments saying “Likewise, your highness. Winterfell welcomes you, as does my family, to the North.”  
Gendry inclined his heard in thanks as his younger siblings were introduced to the Starks.  
It was only then that Lord Stark introduced his own children.  
“My Prince, please allow me to present my eldest son, Robb, heir to Winterfell.” Robb Stark bowed and smiled at the Royal family, and Gendry felt a small hand of his sisters creep into his own big hand. It was Myrcella’s little hand, he realised, but he would question her actions later.  
“And my two other sons, Brandon and Rickard,” both boys bowed similarly to their brother.  
“My eldest daughter, the Lady Sansa,”  
Now, Gendry was attentive, examining his prospective bride with keen interest.  
She was defiantly beautiful, he supposed, but her beauty was too southron, too pretty and delicate for his own heart to desire. He was so used to seeing such looks that nothing intrigued him any longer. Her long auburn hair shined even in the lacking sunshine of the North and her blue eyes tinkled with excitement and awe at the huge party. He could see the admiration in her eyes for him, but found that it was more for his title and the grandness of the Royal party than truly for himself. Nevertheless, he was determined not to judge her immediately, and thus, took her hand and kissed it, giving her his most heart-breaking smile that had got him between the legs of many women which she blushed profusely on receiving.  
“And lastly, my younger daughter, the Lady Arya.”  
He smiled at Sansa once more, and moved on to her younger sister, only to lock eyes with the stunning and very familiar steel eyes of the girl in the woods.  
She’s his daughter, he thought vaguely as pangs of realisation went through him, his other daughter. His younger daughter.  
Being drawn out of his musings by Arya raising an eyebrow as he stared, Gendry finally met Arya’s eyes with fully and gave her a small knowing smile.  
She is naughty, he thought gleefully. He had not seen guards in the Godswood where he had first met her and thus assumed her to be a stewards or guards daughter. However he had been mistaken, she had gone off by herself.  
How interesting, Gendry thought to himself, she wants independence.  
Reaching down for her small hand, he bent slightly to bow over it and pressed a kiss to her fingertips.  
“There my lady, to make up for my lack of proper kisses previously,” he whispered, enjoying as the redness that had brushed over her cheeks on seeing him quickly spread to most of her face. Now that he had more time to look at her, he glanced her over once more. Her silver dress was tailored perfectly to reveal just enough to be proper yet tantalising and her long dark hair curled down her back like a waterfall. But it was her eyes that completely mesmerised him. He had perceived her as an angelic being at their first meeting, yet her eyes revealed the devilish interior lurking below. She was utterly intriguing.  
He felt his younger sister pull at his hand. Dragged out of his haze, he gazed down at her but Myrcella had her eyes focused on their father who had his beady blue eyes fixated on the Lady Arya with a look of such intensity that Gendry had not been aware that his father could partake in.  
He spluttered as he stared at her, before choking out  
“Lyanna”  
Gendry looked back at the girl, whose beautiful face was marred with an expression of mixed pity and absolute horror at being called by that name. That dreaded name.  
Before Gendry could do anything, Lady Stark, who was not reduced to the state of shocked that Ned Stark was moved into, stirred, moving forward and redirected attention away from Arya.  
“No, your Grace, this is my daughter, Arya. Perhaps, your Grace, would like to come inside for some ale and refreshments before dinner? We have quality dornish wine imported especially,” she breathed quickly.  
But the King only smiled, ignoring her proposal, merely shouting “Ned, I would like to pay my respects if you will,”  
“We have been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait,” the Queen said carefully.  
However, as constantly occurred, Robert ignored his wife completely and continued towards, what Gendry presumed were the crypts of Winterfell.  
Gendry looked to his mother and saw her look of tolerance. However, under that attitude of nothing caring, Gendry was sure she was at the very least humiliated by her husband’s very public rejection of her. However, the queenly Cersei Lannister did not show her true feelings and quickly turned around to command his uncle.  
Gendry turned back to the Lady Arya, who he had been standing in front of the entire time. He smiled at her, offering her his arm in order to walk her back to Winterfell.  
Arya looked at his arm, regarding it with such a look of distain. Looking back up, she raised an eyebrow and bobbed a small curtsey and flung herself around violently before walking herself back into Winterfell.  
Gendry watched her go in quite a confused and amazed state.  
No woman has ever treated me like that before, he thought with confusion, why her.  
He was then startled by a small sound coming from next to him as he watch Arya walk angrily but enticingly back into the castle as the crowds of waiting Northerners dispersed. He turned to find the Lady Sansa standing next to him, watching both her sister and his reaction to her sister. As he looked at her, she gave him a serene, slightly expectant smile.  
Quickly remembering his manners, Gendry offered her his arm.  
“Excuse me, my lady, your sister quite confused me for a second. Is she always so… tempestuous?” he inquired.  
The lady let out a quiet laugh, “Yes, my prince. Arya has a wildness within her that has never been able to quite be stamped out. She does tend to turn my parents hair white with worry at her antics. But it was extremely kind of your grace to offer her a hand after her embarrassment at being specifically pointed out and being compared so directly to my father’s sister,” she said sweetly.  
Gendry considered this as he began to lead the Lady Sansa back towards the warm entrance of Winterfell. He was unsure of what to make out of his future wife’s first comment to him.  
She had related Arya’s embarrassment to being compared to a famous beauty rather than what it truly was, of being so fixated on by both the King and Queen and the entire party, already making an enemy of the Queen due to her close resemblance to the Lady Lyanna. Thus he suppose Lady Sansa to be completely innocent to the ways of the world and have a lack of innate cunning that did not match her slight malice toward her sister that he supposed was normal in a sister relationship. She believed, in her lack of worldliness, that he would only offer his hand to her sister out of pity and honour. Her innocence and slight arrogance would not permit the thought of a man wanting her sister rather than her. And she was truly beautiful. She would be an ideal wife but not one that he wanted.  
But he did, he resolved, want Arya Stark. Or more specifically at present, he wanted to fuck Arya Stark after merely being in her presence twice. After barely having talked to her. She was beautiful with a very intriguing wildness that permeated her body. He barely knew her; he had barely talked to her. But that did not dampen his desire for her body.  
Gendry sighed. It was no use. He couldn’t have her. If she were a Southron lady at court, he may have had a chance due to his princely status, but a northern virgin and sister to his betrothed. No she was unreachable, even for a Prince.  
Does not matter, he would be fine and his urges would be panting after another girl soon enough, he did not need Arya Stark.  
Gendry had spent too long contemplating his desire of the younger Stark girl, that he realised he had neglected the elder.  
He turned his attention to her. Sansa looked up at Gendry and smiled sweetly, smiled the smile of a child.  
No, he thought instantly, Sansa Stark would bore him within a month. She lacked fire and brimstone, being more aligned with the water of her Mother’s house. Despite his own personal reluctance to marry her however, she would make a good Queen, a better Queen than his mother at any rate.  
But he would do his duty; he would always do his duty. He sighed again.


	4. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIII YALL! I am very sorry that I have not posted for so long, I keep saying to myself I would post. But then it was my birthday then Christmas and boxing day sales like what can you do!!!! But hey I am a year older now (IM 18 yayayay) and thus wiser, so I am posting this on New Years Eve to make a resolution i will try and post every wednesday. Also guys please comment!! I feel like no one is reading my story haha, criticism and praise are always welcome! please enjoy

Chapter Four 

Although Gendry had been seated next to the elder Stark sister at the feast that evening, he frequently watched the younger one, her radiant smile lighting up the dark hall, cup of sweet wine in hand.   
She’s naughty, he thought gleefully enjoying her cheekiness.   
Arya Stark, who had come down dressed in the same stunning silver dress, her hair flowing in a cascade of curls down her back, showing her delectable neck and pale shoulders to perfection. A vision of stunning winter next to her sister’s change of dress into a dark blue dress that did fit perfectly into her Tully heritage. Now she was sitting laughing with her brothers, not far from the place that Sansa and he were located. Her smile made her face look so joyous and utterly entrancing. She had sat, drank and ate, and thrown food at her younger brothers very cheekily despite her mother’s pleading looks constantly thrown her way.   
He was stopped in his musings over the younger Stark daughter soon by the elder and his constant drinking.   
“So your highness, are you enjoying the North?” Sansa said, ever the proper little lady.   
“Yes, my lady, I find the North ever so entrancing and beautiful,” he said smiling back at her and glancing over her shoulder at Lady Arya.   
Sansa smiled in a confused manner and glanced over her shoulder. Her forehead, most notably the gap between her light red eyebrows, wrinkled in confusion upon spotting the Prince’s eyes on Arya.  
Obviously not being the sole focus of powerful men was unusual for her, he mused in annoyance.  
However just as she was about to say something in response, the King called out for all gracing the hall with their presence to listen.   
“I would like to thank my ally and old friend, Lord Eddard Stark and his wife, Lady Catelyn, for welcoming us so warmly to the cold fortress that is Winterfell of the North,” the King announced boisterously, his ruddy cheeks shining with drink.   
“Hopefully this is the first of many such joinings between Houses Baratheon and Stark,” he finished, his eyes shining with the implications of his words as he glanced measuredly toward Gendry and Sansa’s seat.   
Gendry’s eyes immediately sought out his fathers.   
Not for the first time in his life, he wondered why he had gotten a father who was as he was. So brash, so utterly unthinking. Uncaring of the free will that others were promised. The Starks had always been the family that Gendry would most likely marry into. He had known that for his entire life. However there was a distinct difference between his own knowledge of a marriage and the entire court knowing. Through that announcement, the marriage was all by signed by both fathers, it was ensured. Gendry rolled his eyes and looked directly to the Queen, his dear mother. She would have something to say about this unanticipated announcement.   
She raised her glass to him, his smirk was mirrored in her own face. They both were often appalled by the King’s dramatic tendencies. It was something that had drawn them closer over the years.   
One thanking his host, the King tumbled back into his seat, leaning over to call a well endowed serving girl to him. So the hall went back to eating and Gendry went back to drinking.   
Time seemed to move slowly around him the more he drank. He wanted to sleep, it had been a hard day riding through the snowy fields toward Winterfell. He glimpsed up at his parents. His father was no longer in his seat, probably off between the thighs of one women or another and his mother sat stiffly, with a wine glass in her hand and the Kingslayer at her elbow, whispering in her ear.   
Upon recognised both his parent’s preoccupation, Gendry deemed it a good time to escape the intense chatter of the hall and any person in general. He stood up and stumbled towards the great oak doors that led outside the hall, hoping for fresh air and a comfortable place to sleep deeply in his drunken stupor.   
Once he had crossed the threshold of the hall, he paused to wonder where he should go from there. He was not aware of where his chambers were, or any servants that he could ask.   
Then a thought that had been circling through his brain wormed its way to the forefront of his mind as he staggered toward the dark Godswood.   
The Godswood looked even more uninviting in the dead of the night than it did during the day. He leaned against the ancient weirwood tree and sighed. It was the hauntingly beautiful peace that had been the most inviting aspect of the woods. It was a place he could escape the nonsense of court, and even worse, he could escape the courtiers. He rested.   
His head was still spinning from his excessive drinking when he heard quiet, lithe footsteps making their way toward his current position at the bottom of the tree. But it was only when he spied the wave of a dark curtain of hair fly by his peripheral vision that he grasped who the footsteps belonged to.   
“Ah, so we met once again below the Weirwood tree, my lady,” he called out to the darkness surrounding him.   
A twig snapped on his right side as Lady Arya emerged from the trees with a scowl marring her beautiful features.   
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped angrily at him, coming closer with her grey direwolf seething behind her until it strode off into the dark woods.   
He watched her as she moved forward, coming closer to him, with a lazy smile on his face.   
“Then what may I call you, my lady?” he questioned sardonically.   
“My name,” she quipped back immediately, “you may call me Arya.”   
A pensive look covered his face as he considered why she should allow him of all people to call her by her first name. It was a sign of friendship, he supposed.  
But soon he returned, “Well Arya, in that case, you may call me Gendry,” he said as he delivered a drunken bow, almost falling toward her, on to his face.   
She let out a breathy little laugh before a stoic frown descended once more on to her features with held all the icy cold of the North itself.   
“Why did you not tell me who you were? Why were you in the Godswood? And above all, why do you keep staring now?” she hissed at him.   
He looked up and smiled.  
“Whatever do you mean, my lady Arya?” he whispered. 

 

The smile that adorned his features was cheeky. Paired with his slightly glazed over eyes, Arya knew she would be hard-pressed to get any real answers from him. She had seen this mood, this drunk recklessness, in her brothers much to often.   
“While sitting beside my sister, Sansa, during dinner you kept glancing at my brothers and I. So tell me what you want now,” she demanded.   
Their eyes met once again as she fixed him with a piercing grey stare. His light blue met hers and she felt herself go slightly weak, a strange fluttering occurring in the pits of her stomach. She immediately dismissed it as something bad she ate.   
But despite Arya’s inability to recognise attraction, she could acknowledge beauty. And Gendry Baratheon was handsome. Very handsome.   
Sansa and him would make a fine couple, a striking couple, she thought vaguely. Sansa was the beautiful girl, the very image of their mother, who would marry a perfect Prince and have little princelings and in turn, Arya would be able to stay in Winterfell for a little bit longer before being shipped of into a marriage befitting of her station to be tamed by a husband. Though when that occurred, Arya would fight tooth and nail against it. Sansa would be a queen while Arya remained a lady, thank the Gods.   
Lost in her own thoughts, Arya’s eyes snapped back up to Gendry when he called her name which she immediately barked a ‘yes’ to.   
“My lady, forgive me if I stared. I was just completely overwhelmed by your utter beauty,” he slurred in an almost sincere tone, a smug look on his face.   
Arya hand itched to slap his self-satisfied smile off his face. She hated being called beautiful. Though she could now say that she did not feel like ugly little Arya Horseface, Sansa was still the beauty of the family. She did not need Gendry Baratheon flattering her with useless sawder. It only reminded her of what she wasn’t.   
But nonetheless she answered distastefully rather than with any vulnerability.   
“No,” she growled, “Your dear future wife has the overwhelming beauty you are referring to. I am content to be better equipped in horse-riding and swordplay.”   
“Really, my lady, you like to play with swords. Is that all swords?” he asked cheekily.   
Arya narrowed her eyes at him, perfectly understanding his meaning due to the incessant japing of Theon.   
On noticing her knowing look, he quickly retracted his statement by shame facedly adding that he truly meant to inquire if she practiced with hammers and their like and other such weaponary.   
Arya tolled her eyes, but answered immediately, a smile lighting up her face. Her smile made her less a stern Stark and more a sweet summer child, Gendry noted.   
She hurriedly told him of her wish to be trained in the style of the Braavos water dance, explaining in tedious detail Winterfell’s instructors insistence that had she been given a her dancing master she would have further excelled at swordplay and perhaps matched her brothers own training.   
Gendry may have at one time grown bored of a girl talking in such great detail of anything really, but not with this particular girl. Not with Arya. So he questioned her, being drawn into the detailing of her life, of her training, of her.  
“So you aim to be both a soldier and half horse, my lady,” Gendry inferred as she explained her enjoyment of riding.  
She grinned in contentment.   
“Yes, I fear that I shall always be the bane of my mothers existence, the shame of my family. A lady who would rather not be a lady,” she japed happily.   
“I do not think that you could ever be a shame to any family, natural or married into,” Gendry said, “I think that your adventurous spirit and rebellious nature gives you a distinction amongst other woman. I mean look at your aunt, she is said to have been as tempestuous as she was beautiful, and she forced war upon the seven kingdoms…” he drew off slowly noticing the pained look on Arya’s face.   
“Father never talks about her,” she ventured to say quietly, “Only sometimes when he says that I am her likeness. But often I will notice him staring at me with the face of someone who is in deep reminiscence of a beloved person.”  
She glanced up at him, her face still curious, and smiled.   
“I understand Arya,” Gendry said wistfully, “I often stop a similar look on my father’s face. But rather I think he is mourning his own youth.”  
“Well he certainly did not retain much of his youthful loveliness,” Arya blurted out sarcastically.   
Gendry laughed good humouredly at that, nodding his own agreement.   
“But I think the Lady Lyanna is a sore topic of the entire Kingdom,” Gendry said, “particularly for both our fathers, perhaps even my mother. But whatever the damage Lyanna Stark did to the kingdoms, there is no denying her beauty if you are her likeness.”   
Arya face bloomed with heat, covering her face in embarrassment and no doubt flattery. However she soon remembered her previous friendliness and resumed talking, ignoring his comment.   
“I am sorry my lord, I am sure you would not want to talk of a woman who has most likely caused your family nothing but pain,” she apologised.   
“On the contrary, Lady Arya, any chance to talk to you is a welcome one,” he flirted.   
Arya let out a laugh, a pushed his shoulder a lot harder than one would expect of one so skinny and small, hissing out an exasperated ‘stupid’. He let out a chuckle.   
“But in all honestly, my lord, I will talk to you all the time if you tell me of your extensive travels. The entire seven kingdoms have heard tales of the travelling Prince. Have you been as high up to scale the Wall or merely as further down to the sandy slopes of the dornish beaches,” Arya asked eagerly.  
“Well, my lady, had I scaled the Wall, this would not be my first trip North. But yes, I have lay on the sandy shores of Dorne. Do you hold an interest in travelling?” he queried.   
“Yes I do. My elder brother, Jon and I always promised each other when we were young that one day we would travel Westeros together. But soon he will depart for the Wall and I, well, I…” she stuttered.   
“Will be sold off to the highest bidder for a Stark daughter,” he finished for her.   
She nodded miserably.   
Gendry felt a flush of sympathy mixed with stark compassion fill him. He reached out and took one of her small hands in his, clasping it tightly with both hands, ignoring the small current that her touch excited in him. To him it seemed cruel to tame such a wild beauty.   
“My L… Arya,” he whispered intimately, “I am sorry for that. The life of a daughter, having to be a currency used for the furthering of a man, a fathers, wealth and prosperity is one that I abhor. My own precious sister will be sold off soon, most likely to Dorne. I dread that day. I would never impose it own my own daughters.”   
Arya listened to him finish, her eyes narrowed.   
“Yes you will,” she said suddenly after a momentary pause, “All men do. Do not make statements that one day may make a hypocrite of you.”  
Gendry was taken aback by the bold statement.   
She was daring and bold, he decided. Outspoken and unflinching in her resolve. And, damn her, very enticing in her stern beauty.   
A twig cracked from behind them.   
Arya immediately jumped back, pulling her warm hand from his. Looking wildly at to where the sound came from.   
Gendry turned, his eyes clashing with another set of grey eyes that were so similar to the ones he had previously been pierced by.   
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Ned Stark stared at the couple holding hands under the hearttree with a look of yearning, a look of fearful reminiscent framing his usually cold features.   
It was like staring at Robert and Lyanna at the wedding that should have been had it not been for the tourney of Harrenhall and the Dragon Prince.   
Ned looked into Arya’s eyes as she stared at him sheepishly.   
Should he even be surprised to find his youngest and most rebellious child holding hands with a man who was to be her sister’s betrothed in the middle of the dark Godswood without a chaperon?   
No, he thought dryly, he was not even slightly surprised. But then he knew that Arya would see nothing wrong in her actions. To her, she was still little Arya Underfoot who needed no propriety and could go where she pleased with who ever she desired to.   
She did not recognise her own beauty, the beauty that other immediately saw. She did know realise that her resistance to all thing remotely romantic made her only more enticing to men. She was wild, intriguing and beautiful. A hearts desire. The only person who did not acknowledge this was her. Everyone else saw it.   
Arya began walking toward him, pausing only to nod at the Prince. When she reached him, she stood on the points of her toes and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, a peace offering, an apology for her rash decision of disobeying his desire for her to stay inside, in the safety of the castle, under his watchful eye.   
She walked past him back to the castle without uttering a word.  
Ned turned his eye to the Prince then.   
“My lord, I am sorry. Your daughter followed me out here merely to inquire some information. There was no harm or intent of harm on either side,” Gendry said hurridly, obviously fearing an enraged father that would demand his righting his daughter of any dishonour he had caused.   
“I swear I did nothing to take advantage of Arya,” he said.   
Ned let out a quiet chuckle at that.   
“Your highness, I am aware that had you done something dishonourable to my daughter then Prince Joffery would be the newly crowned Prince and heir to the Iron throne. She is quite able to look after her own interests,” he responded.   
Ned paused, gathering his face to ensure he now be regarded as menacing.   
“However, your highness, if you do anything to garner the slightest it of pain in either of my daughters, particularly my Arya, well, the seven kingdoms will not be big enough for you to find a place that is adequately hidden from me,” Ned threatened.   
Gendry’s face reflected his fear at the threat, as Ned face showed no bluff in his words. He was no accustomed to threatening father. Most fathers, and mothers, in the South would push, no throw their daughters, both beautiful and ugly, young and older, at him, hoping that he would take one of them to bed, hopefully resulting in royal favour. Or even pregnancy. All which could lead to a crown. But the Starks were not like that.   
Yet another thing I like about the North, thought Gendry.   
“Of course, Lord Stark. Both myself and my brother, Joffery will treat your daughters with the upmost respect,” he said timidly.   
Lord Stark stared at him, no longer in a menacing way, but rather his face held a thoughtful expression exceeded only by the glint of curiosity in his eye.   
He began to turn around slowly, only to halt, and look at Gendry again.   
“Do not hurt my daughter, your royal highness,” he said sternly, immediately turning around and slowing walking back towards Winterfell.   
Gendry was perplexed, which daughter did he mean. What was he saying?  
Gendry was as good as engaged to Sansa Stark. His father had wanted to join the houses of Stark and Baratheon for as long as Gendry had be born, for as long as he had been a young Robert reborn. And Arya Stark, well she was something to enjoy, someone to chase and get to know for the time being.   
Gendry slowly struggled out of the Godswood back to the castle, wondering what more time in the north would bring after such interesting events in only one day, and the Godswood was silent.


	5. Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well you'll just have to read and see....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIII YALL, its been way way way too long!! I want to apologise and explain for why its been two month or maybe even a bit longer than that.... (SO SORRY). You see I just started law school so as you can imagine I am so busy with work and more work, basically it never ends! Similarly I had a bit of writers block, I know where I want to get my story I just need to work on how to get it there!! So they are my excuses!! Enjoy the chapter and tell me what you think about it!  
> Just because I am a complete literature nerd, I left a big clue that foreshadows what is to come in this story! If anybody guesses which line correctly it is I will like legit dedicate a chapter to you, coz it made me feel pretty sneaky?? Enjoy and leave some love please :)

Arya’s eyes fluttered open as she heard the gentle opening of shutters within her room. On seeing her elder sister standing over her bed, looking expectantly at her, she instantly rolled her eyes and rolled over away from her with an annoyed groan.  
“What do you want Sansa?”  
Sansa clicked her tongue in disapproval at Arya’s blunt inquiry but was obviously determined to be in a good mood.  
“Come Arya, it is time for us and the royal family to break our fast. Mother wants you downstairs in the Great Hall, preferably without either her or the Septa having to come up here and forcibly remove you from your sheets again,” Sansa said.  
Arya rolled her eyes once again. 

“That was only once or twice Sansa,” Arya snipped out as she stretched out, yawning on her bed, “You really do have such a stupid tendency to be so overly dramatic.”  
Sansa just looked at her, no amusement written on her face whatsoever, before speaking once again.  
“Honestly, sister,” Sansa said completely exacerbated, “Just get washed and dressed. I have ordered the water brought up and I have left your green gown out for you to wear today. Please try to look respectable, only be half wilding today.”  
Arya laughed at that, noticing that even Sansa’s lip turned slightly upwards in a half smile.  
“I shall try for that, sister, for you only,” she replied in merriment, “No promises though. Us half-wildings are not always able to control our urges, you know.”  
“Arya,” Sansa pleaded in sudden desperation, “If I am to secure a marriage to one of the Princes, preferably the elder, in the next few days before they leave then I must make a good impression on my new family so that they know that I am fit to be a Queen and good enough for their son. As must my family, and that does includes you. So, please just smile and be a lady for once. For me.”

Giving her sister one last pleading look, she turned to leave the room, closing the door with a small smile.  
Arya sighed, immediately flopping back on to the bed intent on returning to her slumbering state. She turned her head to stretch it once more, only to be met with the sight of the ugly green dress next to her bed. She eyed it with distain. But slowly pushed herself upright as she remembered her sisters pleading.  
Well I am defiantly not wearing that, she thought, no matter how much Sansa beseeches me.  
This thought spurred her into action as Arya got up, stretched once more, and made her way towards her dresser. She glanced back at the dress but kept going, walking straight past it. Once she reached her cabinet, she immediately dropped to her knees and reached underneath the wooden case to pull out a pair of old rumpled breeches and a plain cotton top. 

Slowly she stood up and dressed.  
Her mother would be absolutely furious when she saw her like this, so would Sansa. But today was a day for training and fighting with Jon, not prancing around, looking pretty, and eating lemon cakes. She had done that the last few days and she was defiantly done with it. She had earned a break from it.  
So she pulled on her scratched boots and walked to the door, closing it carefully behind her.  
\---------------------------------------  
The Great Hall of Winterfell was beginning to fill as Jon sat, munching on his breakfast toward the back of the hall. His exile from the great table where the rest of his family sat had continued through the royal family’s visit. However, they were soon to leave then he would finally get to be with them once again. It was a lonely spot, a lonely morning, being at the back of the hall. There was no chatting with Robb or laughing as Arya did something that once again disappointed her mother and amused their brothers. Or even smiling quietly with his father as they bid each other a good morning.  
But it will all return to normal again soon, he thought as he watched his family all take their places along with the Queen and her children, all chatting cheerfully except the Queen, whose face revealed her sour contempt for the environment surrounding her despite what Jon thought was a warm and comfortable morning in the cold North.  
However his eyes scanned the table once more, noticing something.  
He frowned, where was Arya. She was the only one not seated, the only one of his siblings missing from the High table.  
What a surprise, he thought dryly, she’s probably asleep with the Septa standing over her ordering her to wake up before she gets Jory to pull her from her bed.  
Amongst his pondering, Jon felt a weight settle into the bench next to him. He flicked an eye over to where the presence was felt only to find himself staring at the wide smile of the Crown Prince. 

“Good Morrow,” he said with another kind smile, “I’m Gendry.”  
He offered his hand to Jon, who took it very hesitantly, shaking it daintily like he might break off the royal’s hand.  
“My name is Jon, Your Highness, Jon Snow.”  
“It is very good to meet you, Jon,” he answered, “And Gendry is my name, none of these ‘your highness’ or other titles please. I came to introduce myself and ask if we could have a match after breakfast in the training courts.”

Jon’s confusion must have shown on his face as Gendry then explained his interest in sparring with him.  
“Your brother, Robb was telling me, well more specially boasting of his own skills with a sword as one of the best in Winterfell, well the best out of the Stark’s anyway. But one of your very loyal younger brother immediately called him out on his lies and claimed you to be the better swordsman of the two,” he clarified, “Robb then begrudgingly admitted you were the better, particularly in imparting those skills, so here I am.”  
Jon nodded gravely and waited for him to continue. 

“So here I am,” he once again reiterated, “A terrible swordsman who was hoping that through us having a match I could perhaps enhance my skills with my most disliked weapon. If you wouldn’t mind helping me of course.”  
“Of course, your hig…” he halted his sentence on a pained look on the Prince’s face, “Of course, Gendry.”  
Gendry smiled at that. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” he asked suddenly looking up and down the bench.  
Jon shook his head, his eyes finding the floor. No one would demean themselves to sit with a bastard but the drunkest of men.  
“Well then you won’t mind if I stay here and have some breakfast with you then we can head straight out to the training yards afterwards as long as you’re able to,” he stated, gesturing for a nearby maid to bring him some food.  
Jon smiled gratefully, nodding his assent. 

It turned out that the Prince talking so much was a rarity. He was quiet but easy-going in their subsequent conversation. He asked Jon questions and listened carefully to his answers, answering Jon’s with quiet enthusiasm. It was odd to be treated with so much consideration and even friendship by someone of such high status. So it was then that a friendship began to bloom between the two. 

However, there was a palpable sense of disapproval that Jon could feel in the air, a constant frowning that was directed at the two boys talking and joking and, after some time, laughing. An annoyance at the Prince for so openly favouring a bastard over the others in the hall, who were all of such high and noble birth, fit for a Prince to sit and have breakfast with. But the Prince paid this no attention barring when he sneered at a man who came to invite him to his own table by demeaning sitting with Jon.  
They continued talking and laughing so loudly that soon Robb snuck his way over the join the fun with Theon venturing over only a couple of minutes after. Soon all four boys were bonding over stories and tales of conquests, failures and a whole manner of other things. Theon was just in the middle of telling a boisterous story about himself and three whores when a hush fell over the hall, particularly the high table. 

Jon glanced around the hall his eyes alighting on a figure walking through it, oblivious to the trouble she had stirred up, the eyes of the whole court now glued on her figure as she pranced up to the high table. 

Arya, snug and comfortable in a pair of Bran’s old, dirty breeches, with a sword on her hip, Nymeria trotting behing her.  
Oh Gods, Jon thought as he looked immediately to Sansa whose face almost matched her flaming hair, embarrassment and anger covering her face like a bad rash, she looks like a wildling. 

Jon bit his lip to hide his smile at his little sister’s lack of adherence to being a noble woman of House Stark. She rebelled against all the expectations of her gender with a fierceness that rivalled a dragons fire. It was something that he and his brothers, and even their father Jon believed, had always enjoyed about her. She was always surprising, never typical in the slightest. Her smile was always a promise of mischievousness rather than the classical obedience exhibited by the majority of highborn women.  
His sister was still making her way toward her seat on the dais when Jon heard an amused chuckle. He turned his head back toward Gendry, who was also watching his sister with something akin to interest and pleasure. 

“She’s certainly something else, isn’t she?” Jon offered in good humour, glancing back at Arya.  
“She most certainly is,” Gendry agreed, “Something else entirely. Does she always make such bold statements to all of Winterfell by running around in boys clothes?”  
“Yes quite often,” he replied, “I don’t think that Arya really understands how her actions will impact others. Such as right now, I think Sansa is debating whether to choke or strangle her.” 

Gendry looked up to Sansa and let out a bellow of a laugh at her utterly mortified expression.  
“She certainly does look mighty distressed,” he japed, “I don’t know why though, I think Lady Arya looks very pleasing to the eye in such clothes. They do exemplify her asserts as well as her true nature to any man who would wish to marry, no tame her. No man wants to marry blindly.”  
Jon nodded his agreement and they continued eating and japing until Jon felt a hand on his shoulder and a gentle kiss on his cheek. But before he could turn, Arya was already sliding into the seat in front of him next to Robb. She glanced at the Prince before facing him, completely ignoring their royal guest.  
“Jon if your not busy today after you have finished eating, could we have a round in the practise yards?” she asked immediately, an air of hopefulness embedded in her request.  
Jon’s lips quirked in a faint smile at her question. 

“I am helping his highness today, little sister, but perhaps if you ask him nicely, though that may be challenging for you, you would be able to come along,” he answered.  
Arya’s eyes flickered to the Prince in distain, her raised eyebrow asking silently if she should be able to go with them.  
When the Prince merely continued to eat, not responding at all, Arya grew frustrated and looked away disheartened.  
“Why are you sitting down here, Arya?” Jon inquired after a minute of silence.  
Arya rolled her eyes. 

“Well normally it’s easy to ignore Mother and Sansa’s distain for my attire and my desire to training but with the Queen there too, it was like a trio of motherly disapproval. Only the little Princess seemed remotely pleased, in that, she was defiantly curious about all the sword wearing and men’s clothes.” she explained, “So I came down here to sit with someone who wouldn’t mind what I am wearing. Someone, who wouldn’t rate its importance as paramount. ”  
“Well I certainly don’t mind, little sister, you won’t find any need for propriety down here with me,” Jon said smiling, “You know that I encourage you in all of your unladylike pursuits.” 

Arya let out a small laugh, but just as she was about to reply to his assertion, the King stood up in the middle of the hall that was now full of courtiers and Northerners eating what Winterfell had provided. The King who could for once stand straight, as he had not been drinking at this particular meal, began to address the entire crowd.  
“Before we finish this meal, I have an excellent announcement to make. Lord Stark has agreed to become, after the death of our great friend, Jon Arryn, the next Hand of the King. He and his family will travel back to King’s Landing with us within the fortnight…”  
The King babbled on for a while with japing or seriousness, Jon did not know. He was fixated by the idea that his family was leaving him. Leaving the North. He knew that he would not be able to come with them to King’s Landing. The Lady Catelyn barely tolerated his presence at the high table of the Stark’s, where by birthright he had more right to be than her. But she would not allow him to be in a place where people would recognise him as Ned Stark’s only betrayal to her. He would be staying behind or sent off somewhere, maybe to some Lord’s keep. Or perhaps his father would order him to stay here if Robb stayed behind. After all there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.  
Perhaps Father will finally allow me to join the Night’s Watch with Uncle Benjen like I have wanted to for years, he thought hopefully, I could be a Ranger.  
His heart soared. Even a bastard could be ambitious on the Wall. He would no longer be labelled or judged as a temporary lapse in the honour of Eddard Stark. He could be a hero among his brothers, the men of the honourable Night’s Watch. 

But then I lose everyone around me now, he thought glumly, glancing directly at Arya and Robb, whose faces were a mix of both rage, fear and utter surprise at being removed so suddenly from their Northern abode. 

I would likely never see Arya again or Robb, Bran or little Rickon, he thought in dread, I’d even miss Sansa, who dislikes me as much as her mother does.  
Still contemplating this awful fate, Jon felt a hand clap his shoulder.  
“Well,” Gendry said in elation, “Looks like summer is coming for you Starks. You’ll be coming down to King’s Landing with all of us Southron folk.”  
Arya snorted and mumbled something that sounded very much like “Not if I have anything to say about it.”  
Jon shook his head. 

“I am not a Stark, my lord,” he replied with indifference, “There will be no summer for me.”  
Gendry quietened, looking at Jon with a reflective glimmer to his eye that Jon felt meant the wheels were turning in his head.  
“We shall see,” Gendry said quietly, “Anyway the hall is beginning to empty out, why don’t we go and start training if you have had enough to eat and drink?”  
Jon nodded and rose, briefly glancing at Arya who looked uncertain to if she was invited to partake in this lesson of swordplay. But just as he was about to say something, the Prince made a gesture with his head to Arya, gently throwing his head in the way of the practice courts.  
Arya immediately grasped his permission and scrambled up to join her brother and the Prince walking toward the practice courts, a beautiful smile spreading over her face as she stepped next to him. 

They hurried toward the practice courts, particular Arya who was probably trying to outrun the eyes of an angry Septa or an even angrier Lady Catelyn who would inevitably come after her. But she was obviously determined to get in a round or two before then.  
The practice yards were empty at this time, but Jon knew that as soon as some time had passed, it would begin to fill up.  
Arya immediately hopped over the fence, and plopped down into the court, beginning to stretch herself.  
Jon pulled out his sword, looking to the Prince in anticipation of starting to train but the Prince was no longer paying attention to him.  
He was staring at Arya with a hungry look.  
Looks like he’s lusting after the wrong sister, Jon thought quirking an eyebrow pensively, well Arya has turned out to be very beautiful, a true Northern beauty through and through.

But a frown descended onto Jon’s face.  
But it’s my other sister he will be most likely to be engaged to and then marry, Jon thought. But he shook his head of this thought knowing that that heated look that the Prince had given Arya would most likely come to nothing. 

But Jon couldn’t rid himself of this niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach; in the depths of his very subconscious that this was in no way the end of that look.  
But he quickly dismissed it, turning to the Prince once more. 

“Your Highness,” Jon called, awakening the Prince from his stupor, “If you would like to begin we will. Arya will be stretching for a while.”  
He spun around, looking guilty for being caught eying the younger Stark girl. But he laughed it off and reached for a finely made sword that resided in his belt.  
“Now Jon,” he started, “I was not japing when I relayed the sad story of my skills with a sword. I am not made for one.”  
“We shall see then, your Highness,” Jon replied demurely, hoping the Prince was being modest.  
As it turned out the Prince was both modest and truthful in his assessment of his own skills. He could hold a fight but for a mere minute against an ordinary swordsman and against Jon, well Arya’s laughter booming through the courts was enough of an affirmation of his pitiful swordplay.  
The Prince was unashamed of his lacking swordplay, merely affirming that just because the sword was not his weapon, it did not mean he didn’t have one in which he excelled in combat. 

So slowly Jon assisted him, aiding him in correcting his pitiable stance, posture and poor grip. Gently coaching him into the right position to equal him in a fight.  
Even Arya, who had showed her scorn at first for a man to be such a inadequate swordsman, would on occasion shout out something for Jon to correct in the Prince.  
Soon they battled more equally. More strategy was entrenched within the Prince’s movements. He improved as they fought through the morning, merely needing some coaching to bring out the skills that he already had at his fingertips.  
Sweat was pouring down the two boy’s backs before they ceased fighting. The North may have been cold but such hard exertion had them both heaving and drenched in sweat.  
“Well done, my lord,” Jon congratulated solemnly as he finally caught his breath back, “You have much improved even in the short time we trained. If we keep training, I think that you will equal your uncle, the Kingslayer, in no time.” 

Gendry laughed in scorn at Jon’s last statement hearing both the sarcasm and hope in his voice.  
“My name is Gendry, remember,” he said after his laughter had ceased, glaring at Jon who looked to his feet, “And thank-you. You really are an excellent swordsman, Jon. Your brothers were quite correct. Should you ever want a position in my Kingsguard I would give it without a second thought.”  
Both reverted to silence, quietly contemplating, before a sneering shout broke through the air, followed by a question posed.  
“Why does a girl have a sword?” snivelled the less gallant Prince from the side of the training yard to Arya.  
Arya who had been forgotten in the midst of the fight, glared defiantly back at Joffrey.  
But it was Gendry’s voice that rang out across the yard. 

“I could ask the same of you, brother or should I call you sister,” he replied, glaring heatedly at his brother.  
Arya crowed with laughter at that, jumping up and stalking toward Joffrey, pulling a glove from a post along with her as she moved defiantly toward him.  
When Jon saw the glove touch the ground at Joffrey’s feet, he wanted to groan in frustration.  
Typical bloody Arya, he thought in annoyance, doesn’t think about the consequences that her damned actions will have, just does the bloody action.  
“Did your sister just challenge my brother to a duel?” the Prince whispered, watching the pair on the other side of the practice courts.  
“Of course she bloody did,” Jon replied in irritation, “You may not know my sister well, Gendry but this is typical bloody Arya. The amount of guards and even northern lords that she has challenged, though half do not take her up on it.”  
“Does she stand a chance against him?” Gendry questioned.  
“Arya’s very good no doubt about it,” Jon reasoned, “But she often lacks the strength that men double her size possess. Don’t ever tell her this but I think some of biggest knights do go slightly easier on her compared to other boys who they fight. I am not insulting her sex, but sometimes woman unfortunately do not have the strength that a man does.” 

He glanced back at the wormy little golden Prince who had entranced Sansa so much.  
“And, not to cause any offence, your Highness but your brother doesn’t strike as one who would go easy in a fight on anyone, regardless of gender.”  
Gendry bowed his head solemnly and nodded, looking back at Arya in concern. 

“You know once,” he started quietly, “He cut a pregnant cat open and pulled out the kittens to show our Father. Father was so disgusted he almost had him whipped for his act.”  
Gendry’s sentence drew off, obviously in deep thought.

“So,” he said, regaining his wits from his pensive state, “No disrespect to your sister but the action she just took, well it was unwise to say the least.”  
“I cannot forbid it of her,” Jon said painfully, “With Arya, if you deny her anything, it will become her hearts deepest desire. And she will chase after it like a hunter toward a prized stag.” 

Gendry sighed which was then repeated by Jon as Joffrey picked up the glove and called for his sword.  
Arya looked utterly elated that the ‘Prick Prince’, as she had been calling him since the arrival of the Royal family, had accepted her offer for swordplay.  
Arya carefully drew out one of the lighter swords that she usually practised with from her belt. It fit well in Arya’s hand and played off her strength to the best of its ability. It would hopefully give her a decisive advantage against the younger Prince.  
Slowly Arya walked to the middle of court and settled into a comfortable stance to begin. Joffrey however laughed, taking his time twisting his dainty sword, performing a move or two to rile Arya up. But to Jon’s amazement, she wasn’t swayed in her concentration, merely continuing to watch Joffrey calmly.  
Seeing that his mocking had no effect on Arya, Joffrey walked to the middle of the field also dropping into position.  
They circled each other. Joffrey with a mocking swagger while Arya careful moved with her eyes planted firmly on her prey.  
Then Joffrey struck, obviously anticipating an easy victory. But it turned out to be anything but that.  
Swords clashed and whipped around the opponents as they went after each other again and again. Joffrey’s attacks were unpredictable. But though he struck in a fast manner, there was an unskilled, unpractised edge to his lunges. Arya was more concentrated in her attacks, more ferocious as she darted toward Joffrey again and again. But despite being proud as Jon was of his little sister’s cold measured swordplay that she had mostly learned from him, he could tell that in end she would most likely lose. Joffrey may not have had many skills to hold over her head but he had the strength of a man, albeit a small and weak looking one, but still a man.  
Arya’s only weakness was her lack of innate strength. 

But she fought her hardest, refusing to lose without a fight.

The fight continued and just as Jon thought perhaps superior skills and cunning could outmatch brawn everytime, it all came crashing down around his ears.  
Arya, who fought with her left hand, attacked Joffrey’s right, leaving her own right side unguarded. As soon as Jon’s eyes locked on that little mistake, he knew that Joffrey’s would not take much longer to notice her weaknest. 

But someone else seemed to notice faster. Just as Joffrey lunged for Arya’s side, another sword found it’s way there, halting its attack just before it buried itself deep into between Arya’s ribs, leaving nothing but a small glow of red that indicated a cut discernable to Jon’s eye.  
Prince Gendry kept fighting Joffrey, not stopping after halting his attack on Arya, launching swipe after swipe at his brother until he finally dropped his sword with a clatter on the dirt of the yards. 

Then he stood there, his sword to Joffrey’s throat, glaring in such a menacing way that even Jon was quivering to his boots at just being witness to its intensity.  
“We don’t hurt ladies,” Gendry eventually spat out through gritted teeth at his younger brother.  
Prince Joffrey’s fear permeated the atmosphere of the training yards, his face was curled up in terror as if he were about to cry.  
“We don’t hurt ladies,” Joffrey repeated like a puppet, and Jon got the sense that this wasn’t the first time that Joffrey had acted thus only to be brought back into line by his elder brother.  
The elder Prince lowered his sword; spitting words out that made Joffrey scamper away and back into Winterfell, presumably to hide behind his mother’s long red skirts.  
Gendry slowly turned around and walked to Arya who was still standing there, swaying slightly her sword dragging into the floor.  
He smiled at her.  
“I’m sorry I had to step in, my lady,” he said apologetically, gesturing around him, “Do not construe my actions as me thinking you incapable of defending yourself. It was merely… that some things are between brothers, and need to be solved by brothers.”  
Gendry peeked up at Arya through the fringe of his hair again, his face forming a tight frown at her non-response. But then his eyes widened in fear as Arya pitched slightly forward, and he caught her, swooping her up into his arms. It was only then that Jon notices that the small patch of blood had grown substantially in size.  
“Jon,” he called as Jon started forward in anxiety for his sister, “Fetch the master now.”  
And Jon ran faster than he had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIII YALL, its been way way way too long!! I want to apologise and explain for why its been two month or maybe even a bit longer than that.... (SO SORRY). You see I just started law school so as you can imagine I am so busy with work and more work, basically it never ends! Similarly I had a bit of writers block, I know where I want to get my story I just need to work on how to get it there!! So they are my excuses!! Enjoy the chapter and tell me what you think about it!  
> Just because I am a complete literature nerd, I left a big clue that foreshadows what is to come in this story! If anybody guesses which line correctly it is I will like legit dedicate a chapter to you, coz it made me feel pretty sneaky?? Enjoy and leave some love please :)


	6. Evolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't been around! I hope this chapter begins to make it up to you, my readers! I have no excuses to offer except Uni and uni exams! That and I think I got a bit of writers block. But I have now reorganised the story as I always knew where I wanted to get to, but now I have a way to get there! Already started the next chapter so that should be up soonish!! Please leave comments and kudos!! It just encourages me to write! And thank-you to the people who hounded me for an update, I need it! Also I have another story if you want to check it out, its called 'Consequences', but it is a modern AU and I'm going to be honest, I prefer Fated!!! Thank-you for your continued support!

The first thing Arya saw when her eyes fluttered open once again, was a figure, sewing, who had placed herself directly between the fire and her bedside. 

It only took a second for Arya to establish that the figure was her Mother, and immediately she quickly shut her eyes once again, hoping that her newly awoken state had not yet been noticed. Hopefully she could get away with some more peace before she was severely reprimanded by her mother. 

But it seemed that the Gods were not sympathetic to her cause that day as her Mother’s voice soon sounded through her chambers. 

“Well, young lady,” she scolded in a stern voice filled with a blend of maternal disapproval and a slight hint of concern that was so unique to Lady Catelyn, “I hope that you have learnt a lesson to stop your foolish playing with the tools of men.” 

Arya’s eyes were closed, but she still managed to roll them at her Mother’s rebuke. It was no secret that Catelyn did not and had never approved of Arya’s interest in defence, weaponry and most of the other unladylike pursuits that were close to her heart. Really, she disapproved of most things her daughter tried her hand at. In the past, Lady Catelyn had tried with all her might and wits to stop her daughter dabbling in them, forcing her into beautiful woollen dresses and into rooms with other women where she could practise her sewing and other needlework. But it had all been in vain. Arya’s wildness had remained firmly in place becoming a constant thorn in her Mother’s side. 

“No, Mother,” Arya replied, her eyes beginning to peak through her eyelids allowing light to fill her senses, “Unfortunately for you, I will never learn that lesson. Honestly do you not know me better than that by now?” 

Catelyn sighed in built up frustration at her younger daughter. 

“Well, you had better rest,” she said once again returning to her needlework, “You have not been asleep for long, a couple of hours at the most. But we leave for King’s Landing within the next couple of days due to the Queen’s insistence regardless of your condition, so you had better be ready to travel. No way I am leaving without you, you’ll never come down to King’s Landing if I don’t drag you all the way there.”

At this statement, Arya felt the anger beginning to bubble up in her chest and she immediately tried to sit up to argue with her Mother on the nearness of their departure from Winterfell. But as soon as she began lifting herself up on her elbows, she felt a pain shoot straight through her lower abdomen and she let out a whelp that had her mother at her side immediately, gently lowering her once again. 

“Silly girl,” she scolded in maternal concern, “The cut was not long but it appeared to be deep. Maester Luwin stitched your wound and gave you a small drink of milk of the poppy so that you would rest and now you’re underdoing all his good work, my little darling.” 

Arya frowned and reached down for the shift her mother had dressed her in, pulling it up until she could see that there was a wrapping of clean white bandages around her torso, obviously applying pressure to the wound that was under them. 

 

Arya looked up confused.   
“But Mother, I do not remember Joffrey slicing me that much,” Arya said confused, before smugly adding, “He didn’t have the time to get me, or enough strength in his puny little arms to do that much damage for that matter.” 

Lady Catelyn raised an interested eyebrow at her daughter’s distain for the younger Prince. 

“It was not that deep,” she conceded, “It was the fainting and the elder Prince carrying you in, pale and looking half-dead, that scared the good Maester into stitching your admittedly small wound. Or perhaps it was my screams that pushed him into it.”

“The Prince carried me in?” Arya inquired with interest, ignoring her Mother’s attempt at guilt. 

“Yes and thank the Gods for it,” her Mother replied devotedly, “If it had been anyone else I think that your brothers would have almost demanded the younger Prince’s head in anger.” 

Arya looked merely more confused, so Lady Catelyn settled in her chair once more and explained the entire situation in depth. 

“Well, evidently, it was Prince Joffrey who was responsible for your injuries and, due to his intent to do harm, your brothers were fuming. Your father had to talk to Robb to stop him from demanding some sort of recompense to make up for any slight against you and House Stark. But it was only because the other prince, Prince Gendry, was the one to defend you and stop his brother in his attack that muted any in making a move against House Baratheon from Robb and your other brothers,” Catelyn explained, “One brother was the tormentor, while the other was the saviour so I suppose that they balanced each other out in sorts. It was quite an interesting turn of events in the rare dramas of Winterfell. I think that the maids will be gossiping about it for years to come.” 

Her mother continued to talk but Arya was no longer listening, instead her thoughts strayed back to the scene that had occurred at the practise yards. It was true that Gendry had broken up the fight. Arya had been about to yell at him for interrupting when two things had stopped her. First and foremost, it had been the pain that shot through her entire body from the now bound cut on her side that had halted her action. But just before the world had sunk into darkness, she had seen true fear in Gendry’s eyes at his brother’s action combined with relief at being able to stop it. There was obviously more to the action than she had initially thought. Like this was not the first time, Prince Gendry had stepped in on one of Joffrey’s antics. 

Or its just because he is kind, a small voice said from the back of her mind, kinder than Prince Joffrey at the very least. 

She felt relief grip her. At least her delicate, gentle and very easily broken sister would marry the good brother, the kind one. The one that hopefully wouldn’t beat her when he was in an ill humour or not let her talk at social engagements. She did not think that the gentle Sansa would survive Joffrey, no matter how much she worshipped his prince-like visage. 

Arya gulped. She did not think that any sane woman could survive Joffrey. There was just something about him, something intrinsically evil. Something cruel and merciless that emanated from his every action. It was something that Arya could not quite pinpoint; rather she just knew it was there in his soul.   
She had seen the emotion that had shone in his eyes as his sword had penetrated her skin. There was a vivid excitement that radiated from them, a sick excitement that she had never really seen in anyone before. He had enjoyed hurting her. 

But Gendry, he was different. At first, Arya had been certain that he had an extremely flirtatious nature, that, to Arya, was a much too frivolous and worrying trait for a future King to have. But now, as she got to peer closer at his nature, she could recognise an innate kindness in him that was just as prevalent as his lusty attitude. 

When she thought about it, Arya could see examples of this kindness in everything he did. Holding his younger sister’s hand in comfort, without embarrassment, when she was nervous to meet all the Starks for the first time. His friendliness to Jon when he could see that he was sitting alone in the Great Hall, a bastard exiled from his own seat at the high table with his family.   
And most recently, his defence of her, a girl he barely knew, to his own brother when he was trying to hurt her. 

Well, she reflected, perhaps we could be friends. Perhaps we should be friends.   
“Arya, are you even paying any attention to me? Your devoted mother who has sat so tirelessly at your bedside while you have slept so soundly, recovering from an injury that I repeated said that you get if you were not more careful.”   
Arya snapped back into the present, looking to her mother who was watching her with an exasperated expression. 

“Sorry Mother, what were you saying?” she said, trying to appease her mother.   
Her mother huffed but repeated her suggestion, settling back into her needlework, now assured that she had her daughters attention. 

“I was just saying that you should bring both the silver and deep green dress to King’s Landing,” she repeated, “Oh and that beautiful red gown that your Aunt Lysa gave to Sansa but was too small and didn’t look at all well with her colouring. You look utterly breathtaking in that dress with your hair down, a braid straight down your back...” 

“Wait,” Arya interrupted, sick of the incessant chatter of such trivial matters, “I do not want to go to King’s Landing ever. Let alone in the next couple of days. Mother please, do not make me go. You can’t make me, there is nothing for me in King’s Landing.” 

“Nonsense,” her mother dismissed immediately, “We will try and find an eligible match for you while we are there with a Southron Lord as your prospects are much greater down South. That is if you don’t go running around in one of your brothers old breeches that is.” 

“Not much luck in husband hunting for me then,” Arya quipped back through gritted teeth. 

“Your beauty will attract men in the masses if nothing else does,” Catelyn said triumphantly, smiling sweetly at her daughter in a way that made Arya just want to choke the life out of her. 

“What beauty?” Arya muttered quietly earning a look of contempt from her Mother, who otherwise ceased her chatter, before suggesting quietly that Arya rest for a time so to regain her strength back.

The day passed slowly for Arya, who lay in bed resting for its entirety. Both her mother and her remained in a quiet state, conversing only when it was truly necessary so that she could rest more. It did help for Arya to sleep for some time to recover her lost strength. But Arya had never been one for sitting inside and watching the world and her time in it go by. Rather she preferred to be active in it. Consequently by mid-afternoon, Arya was about to go utterly stir crazy. Rather than sitting still and laying her head down to sleep, she was starting to dream of being outside once again, riding, fighting, hunting. 

Anything that would get her blood pumping and her heart beating slightly too fast for comfort. 

As the afternoon went on, it got worse and worse, Arya’s desire to get up and move becoming more and more urgent. Soon in an act of pure desperation to get out of bed, she convinced her Mother to let her at least walk to the window that was situated just opposite the bed. Lady Catelyn agreed after some convincing on Arya’s behalf that it would be beneficial. Arya quickly sat up and struggled up out of the bed as fast as she could for which she found herself on the end of one of her Mother’s cold and very disapproving glares. 

But she persisted and was soon leaning against the wall at the window, watching the external world actively go about. Wishing she was down there with them.   
She watched the blacksmith’s apprentice pound a sword into shape and one of the maids disappear around the corner with one of the King’s guards, giggling as she went. She kept watching, just wanting to go join them all. 

But it was only when her eye caught a flash of black hair that she truly grew interested in the lives of the people below her. The black belonged to a tall man, muscled throught his all body. It was Gendry, walking forward only then to stop, turning to wait for someone who was obviously hurrying behind him. 

She felt her heart stop when a tall girl with long red hair was the one who caught up with him, taking the hand he held out. Sansa. 

She glanced behind her to see her Mother, still sitting where she had been a couple of minutes ago, repairing the same dress she had been then. She was incredibly tempted to call her mother over to witness the completely improper scene occurring below them as Sansa and Gendry walked completely alone toward the Godswood together. But she wasn’t someone to be spiteful or unkind. Not even someone to be prim, proper and good. She would not tell their mother of her sister’s activities even if it mean that she would not be caught, in spite of the fact that Sansa would certainly let her be caught out in a compromising position. No she was better than that.

They are going to the Godwoods, where we met, she thought in agony, not entirely sure why she felt any agony to begin with. 

Perhaps it was like her mother always said, she was just too possessive. It was like when she was younger and Sansa and Jon, before her mother’s influence had reached Sansa at her core, had slowly been becoming closer after Jon climbed up one of the trees in the Wolfswood to rescue her doll than Robb had thrown up there. Arya had run to her father in tears when Jon had then played a game with Sansa, he the knight while she was the Princess and Robb the monster, crying to him about how she was no longer Jon’s favourite sister. Her father had consoled her. 

“There is no one Jon loves more than you, little wolf,” he had said solemnly and she knew that it had to be true because her father never lied. But even that hadn’t stopped her from pinching Sansa hard the next time they had fought. And so that trend had continued, Arya’s possessiveness had continued.   
And with Gendry, well she had never seen him and Sansa even talk more than 5 minutes of polite chatter together. It had been her he talked to. Her that he’d had things in common with. 

He’s my friend, she thought stubbornly. 

But he is her betrothed or as good as, a small voice reminded her.   
So she stood there, staring intently at the Godswood, waiting for the couple to emerge. But they didn’t. They stayed in there for a time, a long time. What seemed like an age to Arya. 

What were they doing? Arya felt a burning curiosity to know building up inside her. 

So Arya just waited and waited, her head in two minds, on the one hand, craving to know yet on the other, not wanting to know at all what they were doing for some reason that she could not fathom. 

She stood there for so long that her Mother dropped off to sleep and the world seemed to quieten. 

What were they doing, Arya wondered again, talking, laughing, or maybe even kissing? She didn’t know and wouldn’t know unless Gendry, which seemed unlikely, or Sansa, which seemed even less likely than Gendry telling her, confided it to her. 

But then she saw a spot of red floating in the distance as Sansa emerged from the Godswood, looking quite flushed in the face, like her face had been holding a continuous blush for hours on end. It was either that or she had a terrible fever of some sort. 

She watched as her sister walked back towards the castle doors, her steps hurried and her body humming with an electric excitement that even Arya could see from her window all the way in the castle. She was probably off to find her friend, the awful and vain Jeyne Poole in order to gossip with about what her and the Prince had been doing for the last half an hour. 

Her eyes flicked from Sansa’s quickly disappearing figure back to the Godswood, waiting for Gendry to follow. But although she waited long enough for him to have made his escape from their secret place, he did not follow, instead seemingly having stayed in the Godswood. It was then that she seized her chance. 

Glancing back at her Mother, who had drifted off into a sound sleep, she moved with a quiet swiftness toward the door, exiting and hurrying downstairs to where the entrance to the Godswood would be found. 

The bandages only hindered her bending and stretching, so her legs worked well as she hurried along, the unsteadiness that the milk of the poppy had caused having long since faded. 

Soon she was entering the woods, feeling revived and active as she heard the crunch of the soil beneath her feet and felt the quaint breeze swirling around her. It completely refreshed her, revived her from the slump she had fallen into by being trapped in a room with her mother all day. The Godswood had an unrivalled healing power over her. The calmness and beauty of it seeping into her very soul. 

I will miss this place, Arya thought in utter despair of her impending voyage south. She knew in her heart that the vapid prettiness of the South, that Arya already knew that Sansa would utterly adore, would be nothing in comparison with the unique, stern beauty of the cold North. 

But before she could be carried even further away into her thoughts of her beautiful Northern home, the very person that she had been looking for came into her range of vision, his back turned from her so that she could only see his long shaggy, black hair and the span of his shoulders. 

The Prince was sitting, facing the big Weirwood tree, bent over, his elbows resting on his knees as he thought. He had obviously been giving Sansa time to get back to the castle before anyone grew suspicious of the two of them being alone together for long enough so that it was improper. Not that any body would really question it too much. They were after all as good as betrothed in the eyes of the court. Their alone time, while needing to be carefully monitored, could be understood. 

Arya walked slowly toward the Prince, considering why she was here and what she should say. She felt a sudden guilt overwhelm her. 

Should she be doing this? Why was she doing this? So many of the vapid courtiers would perceive this in such a terribly malicious way. Even Sansa. Sansa would instantly assume that Arya was jealous and was trying to steal her betrothed. Arya could already hear the screams of Sansa’s outrage.   
But Arya shook that out of her head. Her motivations were completely pure, completely innocent. She was merely wishing to thank him for intervening on her behalf in the fight that had taken place only recently. 

Arya’s own mind seemed to laugh at her when she thought that the sole reason.   
Please, boomed a laughing voice in her mind that sounded like a more truthful side of Arya, you just want to see him, want to push him over and yell at him how stupid he is for thinking that you cannot take care of yourself. You just want to see him. She shook her head trying to clear all these strange thoughts circulating in it. 

Do not try to lie to yourself Arya Stark, you are too aware of your own character.   
But as she had gotten more and more lost in her own thoughts, she had reached the stone that the Prince was sitting on and was just about to softly call his name, he leapt up, spinning around on his heels to see who had so silently crept up on him in this sacred place. 

On seeing Arya, his face seemed to freeze for a couple of seconds, before a stupid expression of confusion combined with blatant disapproval covered his face.   
“Arya,” he said, the disapproval colouring his voice, his eyes falling down her body until they settled on the bandages wrapped around her midsection, “What are you doing here? You should be resting and recovering in your chambers, not running around in the woods surrounding Winterfell?” 

Arya glared heatedly at him. All the kind things that she had planned on saying and the equally mean names that she had planned on calling him for stepping in on one of her fights went flooding out of her mind as it went blank. Her mind was no longer processing what it wanted her to say, rather just speaking.   
“All that I wanted to do was to come and find you quickly to say thank you,” she spat at him, “But if you would rather I wasn’t here then I will go.”  
She spun around, starting to walk back toward where she had originally emerged from when she felt a hand grasp her arm and pull it backward.   
“I’m sorry,” he apologised, “You just took me by surprise. And I did not help you during your fight with my brother, merely to watch you put your well-being at risk once more, my lady.” 

Arya paused at that sentiment, looking up at him with a slightly shocked expression. 

“Why?” she asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion at his concern. 

Gendry’s brow furrowed as he looked up at her bewilderment. 

“Why what?” he questioned slowly, his brow still crinkled as he tried to understand her question. 

“Why would you stay that?” she clarified, “Why do you care?” 

Gendry just looked at her, a pained look in his eyes that Arya had trouble understanding, before beginning to slowly speak. 

“You are soon to be my good sister,” he said slowly as if testing how it sounded himself, “Of course I would be aware and concerned for your health and safety. I’m sure anyone would do the same.”

Arya let a frown take over her face and nodded distractedly before replying with her usual sarcasm.

“And here I thought that we had something special between you and I,” she said with scorn, ‘but its nice to know you’re that protective of anyone and everyone.”   
She stopped for a moment in consideration before looking back up at him shyly.   
“I’m glad to know that my sister is marrying such a kind man,” she said, acting sweet for a surprising second, smiling gently at him. 

He smiled, nodding shyly at her, while his eyes roamed her face as if he was searching for something. 

She paused. She didn’t think that she had ever seen the Prince shy. Muted or quiet, perhaps, when he was embarrassed or angered like he had been at his Father’s announcement not long ago. But never shy. He seemed to always exude a visage of quiet confidence when she had previously been around him. He was not always active but even when he was quiet, he had a notable presence that was not just because of his title. Or maybe it was just her that was aware of that presence. 

It was strange seeing the different sides of a man that one would think would be so predictably characterised, being in essence what the other Prince, his younger Joffrey, was. But it was not so, and it was intriguing. 

So Arya walked closer toward him, placing herself just beside him as she sat.   
The Prince watched her with sharp eyes that Arya couldn’t quite read.   
“Why do we always meet here? We really ought to stop but nevertheless what are you doing in the revered Godswoods?” she asked, “Deciding to convert to the Old Ways, maybe you can convert the South once more back to the Old Gods?” 

The Prince laughed, the whites of his teeth shining even in the darkness that surrounded them.

“No, my lady, nothing to do with all that,” he said, shaking his head, “Although it would be nice to have a Godwood further South, rather than just all the fancy Septs. More like I am trying to find some peace in the quietness here.” 

“More like meeting my sister in peace,” she snorted, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, “But since you are looking for peace either way, I shall leave you to your silence and contemplation.” 

She began to get up slowly in order to walk toward the exit of the Godswood but again, she felt a hand sharply clasp her arm, pulling it backwards. 

“No, please Arya,” Gendry pleaded, “Stay with me for a time. It is nice to have some company. Especially yours. ” 

With that he tugged her gently back down to sit next to him, bringing her a lot closer to him this time. Arya could feel the warmth of his leg nearly touching hers, his hand still firmly around her wrist until he slowly began to let go of it, leaving what felt like a scalding mark of his handprint. She shivered. 

She didn’t want to ponder why he seemed to like her company in particular. Why he could make her shiver. But as she leant back she felt another feeling. A small happiness began to bubble in her chest, almost like a jumping in her heart, as she leant slightly into him. But he spoke before she could further consider the source of this newly found happiness. 

“So how did you know that I was meeting your sister?” Gendry questioned with a cheeky smile, before adding mockingly, “Has my lady been spying on me, intently watching me, as I traipse around Winterfell while she is on bed rest?” 

Arya’s eyes flitted up to his, quickly turning her eyes away from the intensity present in them in spite of his mocking tone. 

“Not really,” she stuttered out before beginning to gain back some of her innate confidence, “I was just so bored, lying in that bed with Mother hovering over me like a buzzing bee. So I convinced her to at the very least let me stand near the window. And who did I see but you and Sansa making your way in here. By accident, of course. Trust me, I do not waste my time watching either of your movements. And when she left after, I thought it the perfect time to catch you alone and thank you for your actions today. Although I hope you understand how unnecessary it was as I can take care of myself.” 

She paused, sneaking a look up at him from beneath her eyelashes. 

“What were you both doing in here anyway? Or should I not ask for fear that my very ladylike sensibilities will be offended?” Arya snidely inquired. 

Gendry laughed. 

“Do you truly think your prim and proper sister would allow anything untoward to happen?” he replied. 

“Perhaps with a Prince,” Arya said, shifting uncomfortably where she was sitting beside him, “but not really, no. Sansa is all about etiquette and propriety; I think that she would rather die than show you or, Gods forbid, your mother her more uncouth, Northern side. Not that she really has a more wild side of her personality. Out of the two of us, she has always been the more perfect one. Thankfully.”

“Yes certainly but a happy marriage isn’t built solely on propriety,” Gendry muttered, almost seeming to talk to himself rather than her. 

“No its not,” Arya agreed awkwardly. 

He looked slightly annoyed, maybe even upset, as the smile faded from his lips at that thought.

She felt a weight on her chest, almost as if she didn’t like seeing no happiness in the Prince’s eyes. She searched her mind desperately until she thought of something, her face beginning to light up with a smile. 

“But I mean that’s not always truly the case. I mean, for example, my parents marriage may not have started firmly rooted in the basis in love but now, it is certainly clear how much they love each other. They built that love from starting with propriety I guess. And their love is very strong and had permitted a lot of happiness for the both of them exemplifying that a marriage based on no romantic feelings may surprise you.” 

Gendry looked at her thoughtfully. 

“I suppose,” he uttered, “but I always thought there was a greater amount of happiness to be found if you just fell in love with someone and then married them.” 

Arya laughed. 

“Well isn’t someone ever the romantic,” Arya teased him, nudging his shoulder playfully. 

“Yes as a matter fact, I am a completely hopeless romantic,” he said in teasing agreement, before his mouth curved upwards in a smug smile, “Or at least there are a couple of aspects of love that I heartily enjoy.” 

“You mean fucking?” Arya said bluntly without missing a beat, looking at him as his face slowly transformed into shock. 

But then Gendry’s face turned from shock to laughter as Arya continued to patiently stare at him, waiting for his reply. Oblivious to her complete lack of decorum.

“Well aren’t you unusually sharp?” Gendry said, a look of amusement and admiration shining in his eyes at they gazed down at her, “ But aye, my lady, fucking is one aspect for sure. But there are other things apart from that.” 

“Like what?” Arya questioned, as she considered carefully what he could mean.   
“Well I don’t know if you would understand, little lady,” he said in a voice that felt like he was trying to act far superior to her yet was not so condescending that Arya wanted to throttle him, “Just being in love is supposed to be the most enticing aspect of love. Be happy with the person you are with.” 

“Have you never been in love?” Arya asked curiously, looking at him inquisitively, tilting her head slightly to the side as she looked up at him. 

Gendry looked back at her, also tilting his head to the side in contemplation. 

“No,” he said, after a minute, “I haven’t ever been in love. Lust for sure, but never love. Never felt that thunder bolt of true love hit me in the chest when I saw a beautiful girl pass by me.”

Arya shook her head. 

“It cannot be a lightning bolt of love that strikes you,” Arya scoffed, looking into the darkness of the trees, “I think lust strikes you, love grows.” 

Gendry looked at her while she maintained her eye line on the trees. 

“Well that’s very wise for someone who has never been in love,” Gendry said, slightly in awe yet still maintaining his teasing stance. 

Arya shrugged. 

“Who said I had never been in love?” she inquired softly, looking at him through teasing eyes. 

Gendry raised an eyebrow, looking at her.

“You don’t even seem to like boys in that way,” Gendry stuttered out in a stunned voice after a minute. 

Arya thought for a second. 

“That is true,” she conceded, “And for once you are right, I have never been in love. There has been no one to truly grab my attention.”

“Maybe one day soon then,” the Prince suggested with a small smile, “Are you not next to be married off shortly? I mean with your sister and I as good as betrothed, you are the next daughter in line for matrimony.”

Arya rolled her eyes. 

“I suppose I would be if my mother were as formidable as yours is, but my father is the formidable one in Winterfell,” she said proudly, “And he would never make me marry if I did not want to marry them. He told me so himself.” 

Gendry snorted. 

“That’s what they all say,” he said carelessly, his own hidden resentment at his own father peaking through in his voice, “My father said that very thing to my sister when she turned 13. But as sure as it snows in the North, I know he will sell her off to the highest bidder when the time comes.” 

“Yes but that’s your father not mine,” Arya argued. 

Gendry just sighed. 

“You’re right,” he conceded, looking at her apologetically, “I guess I am just bitter over the arrangement of my own betrothal.” 

He looked glum but Arya couldn’t help but feel defensive of her sister.   
It must have shown on her face, because Gendry quickly began explaining himself.

“Please do not think that I’m upset that I have been paired with your sister,” he said quickly, “Its not Sansa as a person for which I am irritated with, I mean she’s very beautiful and kind and accomplished and all. But its just… its just that I think that some people are made for some people. And I do not feel like your sister and I are made for each other. I do not want either of us spending the rest of our lives regretful and resentful because we never got even a chance at having a loving match or something at least akin to a love of that sort.” 

He looked so sincere in his wish for a second that Arya couldn’t feel any anger toward him. 

“But you will grow to love each other in time,” she rasped out after a second of consideration.

“Perhaps,” was all the reply she received from him.

They sat in silence for a second before a thought that had struck her finally came to verbalisation.

“Why are you telling me this?” Arya said quietly, looking at him. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted just as quietly, “You’re just always around when I am having one of my more profound moments.” 

He laughed, before quietening once again.

“That and I just feel like I can talk to you properly,” he said, quietness creeping into his voice, “Not with the pretty words and false flattery that I employ when I am talking to other girls. The real me can speak to the real you. I can be reprimanded, straightened out and called out by you, you are definitely not afraid of telling me off. You don’t hesitate or keep quiet when you know the truth. You have a rare quality that is made up of the perfect mix of honestly, bluntness and also kindness. It is not a thing that I have seen before in many girls, regardless of whether they are Southron or Northern. That’s why I talk to you. You don’t flatter me, you talk back with directness and honest, and to be truthful, I admire that trait exceedingly.”

She felt a spark of warmth ignite itself at his softly spoken words. She looked up at him, slightly startled when she met his eyes directly, their brilliant blue coloured haze looking back at her. There were many emotions hidden in their depths. She was not able to individually recognise each different emotion but she could just tell that they were present in his gaze. 

One she did recognise as familiar she just did not know where she had seen it before. 

But as she had been preoccupied closely examining the feelings swirling around in the depths of his eyes, she had barely registered the fact they had come closer and closer until she could barely breath without breathing the scent of him in.  
Arya could feel herself completely freeze despite her mind still screaming at her to move somewhere, anywhere else so that he couldn’t reach her. So that she would not willingly kiss her sister’s betrothed. He was close but he had stopped his movement forward for a second just far enough that she would be able to move back to indicate her rejection of him, indicate that she did not want him. But she didn’t move. She stayed still, frozen, eyes wide as he continued to lean forward. 

It was in that moment when Gendry was so close to touching her that she realised where she had seen that look, the one that he had when he looked at her. It was the one she had seen on his father’s face when he saw her when he was too deep in his cups and remising on his lost Lyanna. It was the one she had seen on Theon’s face when he had seen the whore, Ros walking past them once. It was lust, plain and simple lust. He had been gazing on her with lust. 

Arya’s eyes flickered closed as she felt his lips gently brush hers as light a feather passing over her lips. When she didn’t pull away right away, he pressed firmly with slightly more force, his entire lips covering hers. Just pressing. 

But as soon as he had pressed his lips to hers she had felt something. A spark of electricity pass between thee, like nothing that she had ever felt before. It was like a jolt of pleasure that ran through her body, starting from her lips and travelling down her spine and further down yet. 

But as their lips touched for slightly longer they both pulled away, Arya who was shocked at herself and Gendry, who look surprised yet sheepish. 

Arya got up quickly as Gendry scrambled to his feet too. 

She opened her mouth to say something biting, something scathing. She was so angry with herself, she had just betrayed her sister. She wanted to slap the Prince’s face so hard that it had a hand print for days but she couldn’t bring herself to. This was just as much her fault as it was his. So rather than say anything at all, she swung around and began to run out the way that she had come. 

She could heard Gendry running after her, calling her name but still she ran out of the Godswood. 

What did I do, she screamed at herself in her head, kissing my sister’s betrothed. 

Why Arya why?

But she felt a hand close around her waist as she was spun around against her will and held against one of the last trees of the woods by Gendry, who had ceased calling her name and was looking at her in what Arya thought was a very apologetic manner. 

But as Arya hit the tree she felt a lash of pain radiate up from her side although Gendry grip was not rough in the very least. 

She let out a gasp of pain to which Gendry immediately became still. Moving his hand down to where the wound Joffrey gave her was, he gently pulled up her top, not sparing a thought for her modesty in favour of practicality. His eyes widened slightly when he saw something there before he pulled down her top once again. 

“Silly girl,” he scolded softly, “You’ve ripped one of your stiches clean out with the running that you have done. Your mother will not be very happy.”

Arya was breathing hard after her run, her chest heaving up and down against Gendry’s chest as he still had her pushed up against the tree, held firmly in place by his two warm hands.

He looked down at her, his eyes soft and soulful as he gazed on her with reverence. He gently lifted a finger, running it softly over her cheekbone and down the side of her face. 

He’s going to kiss me again, she thought, and I don’t think that I will be able to stop him. In fact, I know I will not stop him, I barely stopped him last time.   
But though he leant in as he stroked her cheek, he didn’t lean in in order to press his lips to hers again. 

Rather he moved his hands down to the back of her legs, feeling for her knees, gently lifting her back into his arms and began to walk them back towards the doors of Winterfell. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya’s mother had nearly been in hysterics when the Prince once again carried her through the door of her chambers, injured once again. 

Arya was heartily scolded for her brief escape and then promptly pushed back into bed while her Mother talked with the Prince, praising and once more thanking him for returning her wilful daughter to her.

Gendry had just laughed in an exceedingly charming manner, proceeding to tell Catelyn that he didn’t think that Arya could be that wild considering the destination of her escape. 

Lady Catelyn had looked so confused that he quickly took pity on her mystified expression, clarifying his comment for her. 

“I found her when I went to explore the Godswood, my lady,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “sitting silently amongst the peaceful trees, probably listening to the talk of the old Northern Gods in the wind.” 

“Well its better than her going out and sword fighting once again,” Catelyn supposed, her eyes flickering between her daughter in the bed and the Prince standing next to it, “That’s where I half expected her to be. That’s where I told Jory to go and look for you, Arya. Poor boy is probably wandering around very confused. I did forbid him to return without you.”

Arya looked sheepish, smiling apologetically at her mother’s look. 

“Its fine, my lady,” the Prince once again spoke, “I will go and find Jory myself and notify him of the lady’s safety.”

He smiled once more at Lady Catelyn before looking back to Arya, lying in her bed. 

“Well, my lady,” he started, “Now that I have seen you safely back to your room, I will leave you in the capable hands of your very good mother.” 

He walked over to Arya, taking her hand and leaning down as if to press a kiss to it. 

“Getter better quickly, Arya,” he said sincerely to her, although he was avoiding her eyes. 

Arya watched him with interest, nodding her head at his sentiment before he left. 

After he was gone she stared at the door, thinking and processing all that had just occurred. 

As much as Arya hated to admit it, she was completely at a loss for what had just happen. For what it all meant. Really the only thing that she truly understood was that she should not be doing what she was doing. 

This was something Sansa would understand, Arya thought wistfully. 

A boy kissing her would have been something that Arya probably would have gone to her sister with for clarification and explanation. This would have been something perhaps they would have bonded over briefly before they resorted back into their normal sisterly behaviour where they fought with each other more than they breathed. But in this case, she couldn’t do that. It was Sansa’s betrothed that had kissed her. Sansa would find a way to make this all her fault. 

Arya swallowed. 

But wasn’t this all her fault?

No I pulled away, we both pulled away, she thought, she cannot get angry for something so innocent and accidental. 

We barely touched, she thought, I swear by kissing Jon on the cheek, I achieve more intimacy.

“What happened?” a quiet voice inquired from next to her. 

Arya jumped right up off her bed, before looking over to her mother, who was still sitting next to her bed, sewing a pattern on the end of one of her gowns. She had forgotten all about her.

“Nothing, what do you mean?” Arya asked defensively. 

Her mother looked at her, her eyes all seeing and seemingly all knowing. 

“My darling girl, there is nothing wrong with liking the Prince more than you should,” she said in comfort, looking back down at her sewing as she talked, “In fact it is quite healthy for you to finally have an interest in any boy. Just remember that he is engaged to your sister.” 

Arya reeled back as if her mother’s words had physically stung her. 

“I do not like the Prince,” she near yelled, “I barely know him.” 

Her mother just eyed her wearily. 

“He’s Sansa’s betrothed, Mother,” Arya said, “I wouldn’t do that to Sansa.” 

Catelyn sighed. 

“I know that you would not my darling, but sisters have been known to do worse,” she said, “In fact, I’m not so sure that my own sister would not have stolen my own husband if she had half the chance to become the Lady of Winterfell and the North. Just be aware, my dear Arya.” 

Arya looked down at her hands, processing what her mother had said. 

At her mother’s statement, conflict was rife through Arya. Was her mother warning Arya not to hurt her sister, or warning Arya against her own sister?  
Her mother and her had never been close, Sansa always being the apple of her eye out of the two of them. But she had always known that her mother loved her, would always love her. And she would listen and give advice to Arya if she confided something in her, which on a rare occasion she would. 

“He kissed me,” she whispered, still looking down at her hands. 

Catelyn’s eyes flew from her sewing to Arya’s downcast eyes as she stopped her sewing. 

She sighed, gently placing her needlework on her chair before coming to sit on the bed next to her daughter.

“Nothing more than a kiss?” she inquired first and foremost. 

Arya nodded her head miserably. 

Arya could feel the guilt gnawing away at her as she waited for her mother to slap her or scream or something like that. Something that would make her feel less guilty as she would have been, at the very least, punished for her action in some way. But Catelyn’s reaction was none of that. 

Instead, she sighed before bringing her hand up to stroke her daughter’s hair, bringing her into her arms.

“What is with these Baratheon men and their desire for a Lyanna, or in this case her look alike?” she whispered quietly into Arya’s hair, “Don’t worry my love, it is not your fault. You didn’t betray your sister, my girl. Just don’t do it again.” 

With that Arya broke away. 

“But Mother what if I do one day,” she said in agony, “I mean, Gods know Sansa and I don’t get along and I would never do anything too terrible to her unless she had done something unforgivable first, but I mean I let him put his lips to mine. I had ample time to get away…” 

She trailed off, anguish crushing her ability to speak. 

Her Mother just brought her back into the circle of her arms. 

“I know you wouldn’t hurt your sister purposely like that,” she whispered, “But if you do then, well we will cross that bridge when it is presented to us.” 

Arya nodded, resting her head against her Mother’s chest. It was an action that she didn’t think that she’d ever really done in her own memory. It was always her Father or Jon she leaned on. She knew it had always bothered her mother that her would turn to her bastard brother before she would turn to her mother.   
But regardless of the novelty of the action, her mother simply enfolded her in her arms like she was a young child. 

And they sat there, just basking in the love that surrounded them, forgetting these problems for another day.


	7. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So long time, no see/hear/write/chapter... So sorry about that! My muse seemed to fly away! But she's back with a chapter that I hope you will all enjoy!! Just something short but necessary! Updates will come quicker in future! Thank-you for sticking with Fated if your still here! (Alsooo would it be weird if I changed the name of this story I feel like I found a better name!! regrets not thinking of it sooner!!) All comments welcome!! See you soon!

Chapter 7

If the wheelhouse that she had been put in moved any slower, Arya would have easily sworn that the thing was standing at a complete stand still the entire time that they were travelling. However in spite of her willingness to believe that they were not moving, she knew that they were unfortunately slowly inching forward toward the capital. 

Logically she knew that they were getting closer to King’s Landing. She could see the changes in the scenery of the country that she was passing changed and the people that cheered on the sides of the road. Similarly Arya could detect a change in the way that the people began to act. The numerous courtiers that had accompanied the King’s part in particular began to act differently, more at home, as they fell once more into their untroubled and luxurious lives. 

The Queen was one such particular example. She grew more commanding as they rolled into her domain. As soon as the party had crossed the Neck, she began to demand the same obedience from the Stark that she demanded from the lower lords. It was only the King’s pleasure that kept her in check. 

Arya also noticed a change within her parents. Her mother and father both seemed to grow more and more anxious as each day passed and King’s Landing drew nearer. Sansa on the other hand was absolutely riveted by the floweriness of the King’s party with its knights and nobility. Sansa seemed to merely grow more proper and much more eager to the point of bursting as the city drew closer. 

Arya, on the other hand, felt quite impassive toward it all. 

Being in a scenario where the blue sky was above her with surroundings consisting of lush greenery and horseplay would have normally thrilled Arya. However unfortunately she had been confined by her mother to a wheelhouse and watching the outside would it through a window certainly did not incite any of the same feelings of happiness within Arya. However Arya would have been able to tolerate being confined to a wheelhouse with her mother and sister however unfortunately that was not the extent of the situation. Both Arya and Sansa along with their mother had been invited once or twice to ride with the Queen since leaving Winterfell. Riding in the wheelhouse with Sansa and the Queen, even if it had been occasional event, had doomed Arya to be miserable from the start and even now as they passed through the Riverlands, nearly half way through their journey, having only been in the Queen’s company a few times, it had not gotten any better. 

Arya was bored of day after day of meaningless chatter with the Queen, who was very obvious in her distaste for all things Northern, which included Arya. 

She was bored of travelling like she was instead of out there riding with her brothers. But the maester had insisted that Arya not ride for at least two weeks of the journey to ensure that she would make a full recovery, so she had been stuck at her mother’s pleasure wasting away in either wheelhouse. 

Therefore, the idea of arriving in King’s Landing had actually become a rather alluring prospect. 

However conversely, arriving in the capital was a slightly worrisome thought. Days in the capital would be uncontrollable for her to a certain extent. She would be beholden to her mother’s whims and wails where at Winterfell she had not been. Most likely sentenced to sew and chatter for days on end. 

Arya shuddered at the thought. 

But apart from her mother’s sudden control over her actions, there was one other factor that was completely out of her control. And it worried Arya a lot more than anything else. 

The Prince. 

In King’s Landing, he would be free to roam, whether it be around her or not, he could be anywhere she turned. She would not be able to hide from him in King’s Landing. She may never see him or she could see him constantly. She knew a part of her would spend the majority of her time in the city, standing to attention, waiting to see him, waiting to make a decision on whether or not to run from him. 

You will most definitely run from him, Arya scolded herself for her weakness, you will run for Sansa.

Arya’s eyes moved from watching the outside world to looking at her sister who was sitting opposite the Queen, engaging her in conversation that was full of the pleasantries that Arya would never get her tongue around.

Despite the Queen’s aversion to all things northern, it seemed there was one thing from the North that she had her approval and that was Sansa. Sansa, whose politeness and grace echoed in her every move, seemed to have at least impressed the cold Queen who had begun treating her with something other than the thinly veiled contempt that she treated the majority of people to. 

Instead, the Queen would smile coldly at Sansa and call her little bird. Occasionally she would even nod her head in approval whenever Sansa spoke or did something important enough to earn a remarkable feat of approval. 

And Sansa being Sansa glowed at every approving nod, every little smile and even the condescending pats on the cheek.   
Sansa glowed at it all, lapping it all up like a bitch in heat. 

My poor, naïve sister, Arya thought almost slightly cruelly, just because his mother approves of you slightly, does not mean you will be the next Queen.   
It will not stop your future husband from kissing other girls.

Arya mentally scolded herself for her unpleasant thoughts, shaking her head and taking her thoughts back to where they had been previously. 

Arya’s annoyance stemmed from her ability to read her elder sister. She could tell that being companionable was not Sansa’s sole motivation. There was most definitely an element of pleasing the Queen to get to her eldest son that Sansa was playing at. 

Yet despite Arya’s thoughts on her sister’s behaviour, she could tell that their mother was proud of her eldest daughter taking so well to court this quickly. She was proud of her beautiful and well-mannered daughter who was so easily about to engage the Queen and many different courtiers. 

Yet in spite of her smiles, Arya could tell that her mother was concerned that Sansa was already so easily forgetting her Northern roots in favour of the beauty of the South. 

Arya knew that her mother had no such concerns for Arya herself present in her mind. 

Arya was self-admittedly a Northerner through and through. Nothing including the vapid beauty of the South would make her forget that but unfortunately Sansa was not like that. 

The wheelhouse hit a bump in the road, startling Arya out of her thoughts. She turned her head to look next to her where her mother was seated, quietly sewing. One further on was Sansa who was engaging the Princess Myrcella, who was seated across from them next to her brother and the Queen, in conversation.

Arya caught her mother’s eyes glimpsing up at her before looking back down to her sewing. They continued doing this until Arya looked directly at her mother with her eyebrows raised. 

“Yes Mother,” she drawled quietly. 

“How are you feeling, my love?” her mother asked with a smile, keenly looking her over. 

“Fine,” Arya answered shortly. 

‘Now my darling, I know you want to be outside with your brothers,” Catelyn chided with a smile, “But you are a lady who belongs in a wheelhouse, not on a horse.”   
Arya rolled her eyes at that.

“And secondly, my dear, you are still recovering from your little spill with that sword,” there was an aura of distaste in Lady Catelyn’s voice on that last word. 

“Yes yes, I know,” Arya said curtly, before looking outside the window once more. 

Arya knew her mother’s eyes remained on her even as she stared out the window, her eyes once more tracing the hills in the distance. 

“You look rather bored, my lady,” a voice spoke from next to Arya, “Anything that I am able to do to alleviate your boredom?” 

Arya turned her head up, only to be met with the Prince on horseback before her. 

“Nothing from you,” Arya said quite rudely, before snatching her body back from where it had been against the window. 

She looked away from Prince Gendry but she could still hear his laugh ringing out from slightly behind her. 

She felt anger stab through her at his laughing but tried to successfully ignore him. 

Gladly however, it seemed that she was not his reason for riding so close to her window as he smiled charmingly at all the women before his voice rang out once more. 

“My ladies, my father and Lord Stark have directed me to tell you that we will be stopping to set up camp relatively soon so perhaps you should make yourself ready,” he said very courteously. 

Arya rolled her eyes. What needed to be made ready? Absolutely nothing. Men, they had no idea about girls at all. 

“Thank-you, my love,” the Queen said in a cold voice, “We will be ready to dismount as soon as the time comes. Go along and ride with your brother.” 

The Prince nodded his head dutifully before flashing everyone else a smile and riding up front. 

Arya almost leant out the window in jealousy. 

I should be out in the thick of it, riding with Jon and Robb, she thought stubbornly. 

But instead she was condemned to be in the carriage, cosseted by her mother because she got a scratch in a swordfight. 

Condemned to constantly be leaning out the window, only to see Robb and Jon riding on horseback with the Prince while she sat with her family and the Queen, listening to dull talk of fabrics and jewellery and other such nonsense. 

All the things that Arya could never be bothered with and probably never would be.

But at least they neared their destination more and more with every mile they travelled. Then she would be out of this tiny carriage of death and could go back into the world. She would have her freedom once more. 

When the carriage finally pulled to a gentle halt, Arya tried to be the first to tumble out with only her mother’s firm grip on her arm preventing her from getting out first.

She heard Sansa tutting in the background and her mother have her a wide-eyed smiled full of meaning. 

“The Queen goes first Arya,” she whispered to her daughter. 

Arya discreetly rolled her eyes as the Queen and the two royal children exited the wheelhouse before clambering out of the carriage before her mother and sister, who she could hear tutting and huffing behind her.

As Arya felt the ground beneath her and fresh air filling her lungs, she instantly relaxed. This lasted for a couple of seconds before she moved awkwardly forward, wondering what she should do now that she was actually out of the carriage. People were bustling around, setting up tents and tables that would soon be crammed full with lavish food for their evening meal. They all knew what they were doing but Arya had no such idea. 

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted dark hair and leathers. 

She immediately spun toward the sight to see Jon brushing down his horse. Arya charged over to where Jon was standing with his horse tied up.   
“Enjoying your trip, brother?” she said as she reached him. 

Jon did not have to even turn around to know it was her. His continued his steady brushes before answering. 

“Very much, little sister,” he said evenly, a rare smile lighting up his face as he looked at her, “As much as it was a surprise for me to come, I am glad that I made the decision to come King’s Landing for a time rather than going to the Wall.” 

Arya smiled, nodding her head in agreement, a smile coming over her face.

Whilst Arya held a personal distaste of Prince Gendry, she had never been as grateful to anyone as she had been recently to the Crown Prince. Jon had been ready to abandon them all and set off for the Night’s Watch only a few short weeks ago. But his friendship with the Prince had changed that. Prince Gendry had insisted that despite the Night’s Watch being a honourable calling for any man, Jon was needed in southern territories. Or at least that he needed to travel and see the southern territories before sentencing himself to a life of abstinence and solitude. Thus, he had offered Jon the chance to become squire to Lord Commander Barristan Selmy that could then in turn lead to Jon becoming a member of the Kingsguard or some other such thing. At the very least he would always have a place in the King’s lower guard. Prince Gendry had insisted that he know what he was giving it up before he actually went through the motions of doing it. After all it wasn’t as if he still couldn’t ride up north and join the watch, the Prince had reasoned, and the contacts that Jon could make would be helpful if help was ever needed at the wall.   
In the end the Prince had won Jon over and therefore her beloved brother had come down south with her. 

Arya could tell that it pained Jon slightly to give up the chance to go North, but his desire to study under the Lord Commander had temporary won out against the cold life of a man of the Night’s Watch. He may not stay in the south forever but he was here for now. 

So she had been able to keep her favourite brother for a while longer. She had been ecstatic in spite of her mother’s anger on learning he was coming south. 

Especially in light that Robb was staying up at Winterfell. 

“I am very happy to have you with me, Jon,” Arya said sincerely, “And so is Father. And Bran too, of course.” 

Jon nodded his head solemnly as he brushed his horse’s hair until it gleamed. 

“Well, we are nearly at King’s Landing, thank the Gods, old and new,” Arya said as she pat the ridge of the nose of the horse next to Jon’s, “I do not think that I can take another day of being trapped with Mother and the Queen and Sansa…” 

“What’s wrong with being trapped with the Queen?” a voice interrupted from behind them. 

The elder Prince walked up from behind them, looking keenly at Arya. He was smirking slightly and the smirk only got wider as Arya looked uncertain for a second. But Arya was never uncertain for long and this bout of indecision disappeared as quickly as the others before it had. 

“She is boring just like all the rest of them are,” Arya blurted out.

The Prince’s face split into a grin and he let out a boom of laughter. 

“Well I cannot say that that’s a lie. My dear mother can be quite set in her ways at times,” he said agreeably, “I cannot imagine that her talk of court politics or more ladylike pursuits would have held any of your attention for long, Lady Arya, if at all.” 

He looked at her with a sincere smile but Arya barely nodded before spinning around to talk to Jon once more. 

“Where is Bran?” she asked, looking around for her younger brother, “I haven’t seen him at all. Not even riding.” 

“He was riding with me but I have no idea where he got to. Probably with Father and the King. Your mother wanted him to stay near Father.” 

Arya nodded in agreement, turning back to petting the horse parallel to Jon’s.

“Do you happen to know where my brother is Gendry?” Jon said with surprising ease, looking to the Prince inquiringly. 

“I’m not certain but I thought I saw a younger rider at your father’s side,” Gendry answered, “If I come across him, I will relay your concerns to him. He may just come back to you.” 

Jon nodded comfortably at the Prince before returning to working on his horse. Arya couldn’t help the surprise that welled up inside her chest. She had not imagined that Jon would be so comfortable in any Southron nobleman’s company, especially the Crown Prince. He was not tense or ill at ease. 

No, rather his entire demeanour was relaxed and open. As was the Prince’s in turn. And he had called the Prince by his first name… it was all rather shocking really.   
“So are you enjoying the beauty of the South, little sister?” Jon asked her, interrupting her internal ramblings. 

“Well its no fierce beauty like that of the North but certainly there is a vapid prettiness that can be alluring to some I’m suppose,” Arya said in an almost courtly manner, but that didn’t last long as she became the real Arya Stark once more, “But honestly, I hate it and I want to go home. I wish we weren’t heading even more South. We should have just turned around as soon as we hit the beginning of the Neck.” 

Jon smiled placidly at her. 

“I thought you wanted to see the world?” Jon put forward. 

“What? Well yes I do…” Arya stuttered out. 

“Well, sister, this is part of that world that you seem so keen on exploring.” 

With that he switched from one side of the horse to the other. 

Arya rolled her eyes. Why did he always have to sound so reasonable? Jon was easily the only one who could make her think about what she was saying. Make her see the light in what she perceived as a negative situation. 

Gods I hate that, she thought obtusely. 

So in spite of what Jon said, Arya was still determined to hate the South and everything in it. 

“You know if you are going to pat my horse, could you not at least brush him while you’re just standing there,’ a teasing voice spoke from behind her. 

Arya jumped off where she was leaning against the horse, turning around to look at the Prince who was holding a brush out to her. 

Arya’s eyes flickered down to the hand with the brush that was reaching out to her. 

What is he doing now, she thought nastily, trying to strike up some sort of friendship? 

No, thank-you. 

She ignored his hand until he sighed, dropping it and began to brush the horse himself. 

Arya knew she had been doing this a lot, completely ignoring him. She had began after her little talk with her mother about their little interlude in the Godswood. But despite her cold treatment of him, the Prince had continued to try to strike conversations up with her, talking to her occasionally when they were around each other yet no going so far as to seek her out any more than usual.

Just as Arya was about to make her escape he spoke once more. 

“Lady Arya, before you run away from me like you have been ever since we left Winterfell, I would like to talk to you.” 

He paused, watching her, presumably to see if she would run off or not. He also briefly checked where Jon was and if he could hear them before looking back to her satisfied. On seeing her still there, that she wasn’t going anywhere just yet, he slowly continued. 

“I want to apologise for my actions in the Godswood. It was inappropriate and wrong and I hope you accept my sincerest apology,” he said like a person forced to repeated a dull line of a history book, it was like it was something he did not quite believe, but then a hope entered his eyes “But I would like us to be friends, in fact I think we would make rather good friends. So can we please move past it all and become friends?”

He looked down at her inquiringly, waiting for her answer to this proposal.

She considered. 

“I mean, our families are going to be joined one way or another, we need to be able to get along,” he added, looking at her meaningfully although she could not quite grasp at his meaning. 

“I suppose…” she pondered. 

“And with all the stories that I have heard about you from Jon and Robb, you’re definitely someone that I’d rather be friends with than have not like me,” he said unrelentingly. 

He stopped, obviously considering his next words, a small furrow forming between his eyebrow. 

“That and I actually like you Arya and its not often that I actually find a person that I like,” he said, smiling at her, “Someone who doesn’t preen and postulate around me. I want to be your friend because I like you.”

He gave Arya a smile before turning away from her and swinging under his horses’ neck to brush down the other side. 

Arya stood there for a second, surprised at Prince Gendry’s sincere, little speech. 

Maybe there is no harm in being friends, she considered, and perhaps this entire episode was all just a mishap that will never be repeated. 

Could she be friends with the Prince? 

She thought so. But was she going to let him know that, absolutely not. 

“I will consider it,” she said haughtily, looking at him down her nose. 

With that she flounced around back to Jon, who had been silently brushing behind them. 

“What are you doing now?” she said enthusiastically. 

“Well the camp is being set up, little sister, so I was just going to go and find Ser Barristan and see if he is in any need of help,” Jon answered, ever the dutiful one of the pair. 

“Can I come?” Arya asked eagerly, “Please, or else I’ll have to go back to Mother.” 

Jon let out a quiet laugh. 

“In normal circumstances you know that I would have allowed you to follow me Arya, but I really must attend to my duties alone,” Jon said solemnly, “I need Ser Barristan to know that I am wholly serious about being his squire…” 

Jon would have continued to drone on had Arya not interrupted him then.

“So you’re saying I cannot come with you?” she said shrewdly, her eyebrow raised. 

“Sorry sister,” was all Jon said, the sentence being accompanied by a small smile.

Arya groaned loudly. She was almost childlike in her stance and actions.

“Now I have to go back to Mother,” Arya groaned, resisting the urge to stamp her foot in annoyance. 

“You could help me for a bit longer if you’d like? So that you don’t have to spend any more time with my mother who is still with the Lady Catelyn?” the Prince’s voiced posed from behind her. 

Arya was so tempted to just ignore him. But Arya could not ignore an offer like that, even if it was from the Prince. She was just too desperate to be away from Catelyn for that. Yet she was not going to let that be known. 

“There you go Arya,” Jon said with a small grin, “You can avoid any ladylike activities at least for a little while longer.”

“Yes well suddenly being a lady and doing ‘ladylike activities’ has a bit more appeal than it did a few minutes ago,” Arya snapped dryly. 

“Arya,” Jon exclaimed in embarrassment, his face looking annoyed by his sisters’ behaviour. 

He opened his mouth to reprimand her but he was cut off by Gendry’s booming laugh. 

“Do not trouble yourself, Jon,” Gendry said good-naturedly, “I find the Lady Arya very amusing. There are very few who are totally frank with me.” 

“Yes well, frankness will never be an issue when you talk to Arya, she is the very meaning of the word itself,” Jon stuttered, casting an exacerbated look at his little sister. 

Arya didn’t say anything; she just stood where she was, looking slightly glum at the thought of returning to the ladies. 

Was she desperate enough to get away from her mother and sister? 

Yes I am most definitely desperate enough, she thought as she turned to him. 

“You said you needed help?” she stuttered out, refusing to look at his face. 

Arya could almost feel the Prince’s smile of amusement at her question, but nonetheless, he didn’t tease or taunt her like his brother would have done. 

“Yes, would you like to help me finish with my horse?” he asked tentatively, “He needs to be re-shoed, which I was going to do myself now but I need someone to hold him on the other end so that he doesn’t kick too much?” 

Arya nodded eagerly, moving toward the horses’ head to pat his nose.

“You like horses, do you not?” Gendry asked as he watches Arya gently pat Dalliance lovingly. 

Arya only nodded mutely before Jon jumped in to answer. 

“Oh certainly, she loves them,” Jon said proudly, “Back at Winterfell, most of the men think Arya is half horse. She’s certainly a very talented rider. Takes after our aunt, we are told by everyone who knew the both of them.” 

“I have heard that remark actually,” Gendry said, “But in any case, if you’re as good as they say, I would love to see you ride. It is a past time that I enjoy as well.”   
Arya nodded shyly.

They spoke no more as the time past. Gendry finished brushing down his horse before moving on to washing it. 

Arya had to wonder why a Prince took over these jobs? Why he did not direct a servant or squire to do it for him?

She whispered the question to Jon who merely shrugged. 

“Gendry always does it himself from as far as I can see, says it helps him relax,” Jon answered uncaringly, “That and I think he does it to be less intimidating. Shows that he doesn’t think of himself as higher than the small folk and those who occupy these types of jobs. That and he does not actually have a squire.”   
Arya had raised an eyebrow and moved slowly back to where the Prince had finished washing down his horse. 

“I was going to go and shoe him now in that local smithy now if you still wanted to come?” he offered, looking inquisitively up at her from where he was on one knee.

“Why not,” Arya answered shortly, moving around to hold the horses’ reigns, staring up at the saddle longingly, “There is nothing better to do anyway.”   
The Prince let out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. 

“Very well, my lady,” he replied, before gesturing behind him, “Then please just follow me.”

Arya nodded her head nonchantly but her feet still hurried to walk behind the Prince, dragging Dalliance with her. The Prince walked fast through the camp towards the smithy, always being a few spaces in front of her while Arya pulled the horse along. 

Arya tried to keep her eyes away from the tall figure that the Prince cut but in spite of this, her eyes would, from time to time, drift back to him as they hurried along. 

He is too tall by half but I suppose it suits him, she thought begrudgingly.

She automatically wanted to point out his faults rather than his good points. Arya had often been that way when she met anyone knew. She was wary of all people who were not Northerners. 

The smithy air stuck to her like a second skin as they finally entered the heated room. The heat was intense, more intense that Mikken’s forge at Winterfell as up north the heat was not met by more heat. All Arya knew was that she would probably suffocate if she stayed here too long. 

However the Prince had other ideas. He did not seem to be in the least effected by the heat that her body so much resisted. Rather he seemed almost more comfortable here as Arya observed his body was much more relaxed. 

The smith looked up from where he was hammering away, falling to his knees in reverence as soon as he recognised the Prince. 

The Prince, to his credit, told the man to get up, asking from a few things that Arya was not familiar with. They continued to talk so Arya became rather unfocused, absentmindedly stroked Dalliance instead of listening to either man. 

He really was a beautiful creature. Magnificent really with his glossy black coat and strong legs. 

And more than that, Arya thought as she stroked down his nose, he’s strong but placid, strong but kind. 

At the last sentiment, she had not been speaking of the horse. Her eyes had slid behind it to risk at glance at his rider. 

He was kind, Arya decided and she resolved to be kinder back to him in that very instant.

She was still staring at the Prince when he turned around and met her eyes, gesturing for her to follow him as he and the smith walked together outside past Arya and around the side of the forge. The Prince said one last thing to the blacksmith before beginning to walk toward her once more.

“If you could hold Dalliance steady for me my lady, I will check his hoof for measurements,” the Prince asked. 

Arya nodded, continuing to stroke Dalliances nose. 

“Would you like me to handle the horse, m’lady?” said the quiet voice of a man beside her. 

Arya turned slightly to look at the blacksmith the Prince had been talking to, giving him a smile. 

“No thank-you, I am perfectly content to hold the horse,” she said, “But thank-you.” 

The man nodded his head before backing away slowly. 

“Are you sure, Lady Arya? I’m sure that I could find someone who would do it instead?” the Prince asked. 

“Arya.” 

“What?” the Prince said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. 

“My name is Arya. Just plain Arya,” she repeated with emphasis, scowling at him slightly, “Call me by my name.” 

The Prince looked up from the horse hoof in his hand, his expression somewhat quizzical. But he quickly accepted it with a smile and a short retort.   
“Only if you call me Gendry.” 

He looked back down at the horses hoof. 

“Isn’t that like against some sort of rule or courtesy or some such thing?” Arya said. 

“I’ve never much cared for rules,” Gendry said, shooting her a small smile, “and from what I can see, neither have you.”

Arya let out a very unladylike snort of agreement. 

“No,” she conceded dryly, “I have never really held rules in any high regard. My sister will gladly attest to that.” 

Gendry let out a short laugh. 

“Yes I have seen the Lady Sansa’s looks of despair where you are concerned,” he conceded with amusement. 

“Yes, Sansa views me as a hopeless case,” she agreed, “but my brothers love me so I can handle a sister like that with adequate equanimity.” 

Gendry gently lowered Dalliance’s hoof back down to the ground, looking up at her with a glint of amusement shining out of his eyes. 

“I do not know what she complains about, right now you’re acting like the perfect little lady with all your big words,” the Prince teased.

Arya felt her cheek grow warm but she remained quiet, continuing to stroke Dalliance with a comforting hand. 

The Prince looked at her briefly before turning around to walk back into the forge, calling something over his shoulder that she had to strain her ears to catch. 

“I’m just going to hammer the shoe so it fits properly. You can come in here or wait out there, whatever you want, my lady.” 

Arya glanced at him, once more talking to the blacksmith who left the forge promptly, before quickly tying Dalliance to a post and hurrying after the Prince. 

He looked surprised when he saw that she had followed him inside the forge. 

“I thought for certain that you would wait outside,” he said to her as she came in after him, making her way to sit on one the benches where she could watch him. 

“Why should I?” Arya asked, her face scrunching up, “Can’t a friend watch another friend work?” 

His face softened for a second before he gave her a smile. 

“Well, friend,” he said with enunciation, “Lets get to work then.”


	8. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival in Kings Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back!! I want to finish this story by the end of the year (pray that I get it done!!) so here's a short chapter to kick off with!! Finish exams this Thursday and then I will be writing!! Hope you enjoy this chapter!!

King Landing stunk of same shit that it had when Gendry had left the city all but three months ago. 

The sun still seemed to shine too brightly only to be forgotten in favour of the smell that emanated from the sides of the roads. Some of the people that crowded their way looked hungry while other looked too well fed. Some smiled, some spat. Gendry was only glad that he was not the one that spat on. Regardless of it all, their party rode on briskly through the streets towards the Red Keep. 

As the Red Keep, Gendry felt himself chanter on languorously. He was not especially eager to be back at the Red Keep. In fact he rather hated the place. So full of deceit, full of people with a smile on their faces as a dagger in the hand they hid behind their back. However when he glanced at Jon, he could see the wonderment on his face as he gazed by at the castle. Jon seemed to urging his horse on rather eagerly unlike Gendry. 

He doesn’t know the poison of this place yet, Gendry thought dully, he will learn. 

The wonder on the faces of the Stark children as they finally entered the gates of the Capital amused Gendry to no end. He had never seen such awe. Their incredulous expressions were something so new to him. They were so genuine in comparison to anything he has seen from courtiers before. Even Jon had allowed his mouth to quirk up into something that almost bespoke of an awed smile. Bran too gazed upward at the keep, his mouth widening in amazement as his eyes danced with delight. Gendry however got the distinct impression that he was inspecting the castle with a keen smile for a reason that probably included his ability to climb. 

However the boys were no comparison to Lady Sansa when she stepped out of the Stark wheelhouse. Her face was a picture of rapt amazing and excitement all at once. 

Yet another person once more taken in by the shallowness that is King’s Landing, Gendry thought dryly as he watched his future wife take in her new home. 

Arya on the other hand got out of the wheelhouse with a face that looked like she did trust a single person within her sight. Her eyes flashed around, observing everything and everyone. She seemed to inspect people rather than look at them, treating the Red Keep and all the people outside it coming to greet them with thinly veiled contempt.

Gendry smirked at her distaste. She was so predictable. So northern. He let out a laugh. 

Jon heard him, following his eyes over to his sisters. 

“They truly are opposite. Ice and fire, are they not?” he said quietly, looking solemnly at Gendry and then back at his sisters.

“Yes and its not hard to tell which is which,” Gendry joked offhandedly as his eyes searched for his mother’s wheelhouse. 

Jon smiled at him before quickly excusing himself to find Ser Selmy. 

Gendry jumped off his horse, tossing Dalliances reigns to the first available hands he saw. He walked without pause towards the entrance of the Red Keep, not caring a whit at that moment that he was breaking about twelve courtesies. He just wanted to escape all the courtesies and his father’s insistence for wine. 

Gods knew his father would have already called for the wine. 

Gendry was still walking when he heard light footsteps behind him. 

“Its feels like too long since we have talked…” a voice from behind him spoke. 

Gendry felt a smile make its way on to his lips and he quickly spun around, bringing his little sister into his arms. 

“’Cella…” he said with a warm smile, “I am… 

“The next words out of your mouth must be ‘sorry for neglecting you dear sister’ or I am afraid I will have to get rather angry with you, Gendry,” Myrcella finished for him, the ghost of a teasing smile making its way onto her face as she returned the pressure of his embrace. 

“Those words were on the tip of my tongue,” Gendry assured her with a gentle smile, “How are you, sister? Tell me, how did you enjoy the North?” 

Myrcella gave him a bright smile, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. 

“It was lovely!” she exclaimed, “I thought that the North was beautiful and the Starks, very kind. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there.” 

Myrcella glanced around before lowering her voice slightly. 

“However unfortunately I think I was the only one besides you and father to gather any enjoyment from our expedition North,” she whispered to him. 

Gendry let out a laugh as he guided them towards Myrcella’s favourite gardens. 

“It is of no surprise to me that our mother did not enjoy our time with the Starks,” he said in amusement, “I did not really expect her too.” 

“Perhaps not but she still could have been a little more gracious and not so…” 

“Blatant,” Gendry supplied helpfully. 

“Yes blatant about her dislike of everything Northern, including Lord Stark and his family.”

“Cella, you expect much too much of our mother if you think that she would ever be anything other than remotely civil,” Gendry said, giving his sister a warm smile. 

“Yes perhaps I do,” she replied thoughtfully, a small cease marring what was otherwise a beautiful forehead, “However, I enjoyed the North very much and Lady Sansa seems rather kind and very beautiful, would you not agree, brother?” 

Her voice was coy as she spoke the last of her sentence. There was a question in that statement, an invitation to hear his thoughts on his bride to be.

“I will agree she is beautiful,” he agreed with a solemn smile. 

“And…” his sister prompted. 

“Well…” Gendry started, stopping in their strolling to turn to face his sister, “I don’t know, Cella, what else do you want me to say?”

Myrcella regarded him carefully for a minute, sitting down gracefully on the bench that they had stopped near. 

She did not say a word, waiting for him to speak again, giving him some time to consider his thoughts. 

“I just…” he struggled before the words came to him, “She is beautiful and kind and I’m sure that she will be a dutiful and pleasant Queen but…” 

“She is not the woman you envisage yourself marrying,” Cella finished for him.

Gendry did not even blink at his sister’s perceptive nature. 

“Yes or at least not yet,” he answered before hesitating, “and to be honest, I do not know if I am ever going to see her in that light.” 

His sister looked at him thoughtfully. 

“I do not desire a marriage of similar ilk to our parents,” he added with determination. 

“That will never happen,” Myrcella instantly said with decisive clarity in her voice, “I know you wouldn’t allow that to ever happen, Gendry.” 

Gendry looked down at his sister with fondness shining in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you have so much faith in me, Cella,” he said quietly, “I must say I do not always share your sentiments.”

Myrcella looked thoughtful for a minute, rubbing the bench under her unthinkingly with a vacant hand. 

“Well I will not pretend that you do not share the same sorts of appetites as our father but you are kinder and more tolerant. You have a taste for drinking and whoring if I hear correctly, however you are not excessive in either,” she said decidedly, “and most important your wife will not be living the shadow of your past ‘great’ love.” 

She paused before briefly continuing. 

“And Lady Sansa is thankfully not our mother.” 

Gendry nodded at the validity of her words. He looked towards his sister, tender affection enveloping him. 

“Ah my wise little sister,” he said, coming forward and pulling her up gently by her hands so that they were standing, him staring down at her lovingly, “How did you even get old enough to know what the term ‘whoring’ meant and let alone, how you knew I was doing it.” 

Myrcella let out a tinkle of laughter, not saying a word. 

“Your faith in me and your words set me at ease, thank-you.” 

“I only speak the truth Gendry,” Myrcella reminded him with a smile, “and I expect the same from you…” 

Gendry’s brow twisted in confusion. 

“Why do I find you so often looking at your lady’s lady sister?” 

Gendry eyes snapped her eyes in shock. 

Had he been so blatantly obvious? He couldn’t have been surely. He frowned at his younger sister. 

“She is beautiful isn’t she?” Myrcella prompted, looking at him expectantly. 

“She’s something…” he said distractedly. 

“I think she is beautiful in a wild sort of way,” Myrcella once more prompted with a sweet look. 

When Gendry did not answered but rather stared at her with a cold face, Myrcella tapped the bench next to her, silently asking her brother to sit with her. 

He raised an eyebrow but did so without complaint. 

They sat in silence for a second, their skin soaking up all the sun that it had been missing during its time in the North. 

“Are you in love with her?” his sister asked in a dreamy tone. 

Gendry wanted to snort at that. He was no more in love with Arya Stark than she was with him. It was attraction that drew him to her and nothing more. Certainly deep attraction but nothing as deep as the love his sister was fantasying about. 

His eyes skipped over to his sister, taking in her eager expression. If it had been any of his lordling friends asking him that question, he would have laughed it off and told them he was more eager to fuck the girl than marry her. However, he was not a dasher of young girls romantic notions and despite all her intelligence and an uncanny perception of his feelings, Cella was a young romantic at heart. 

“I am not in love with her…” 

“But you feel that you perhaps could be one day?” Cella pounced quickly. 

“Perhaps,” Gendry conceded unwillingly with a glance at his little sister’s happy face. 

“Could you not talk to father about marrying the Lady Arya rather than the Lady Sansa?” Myrcella pondered. 

“That would be a great slight to Lady Sansa, she is the elder daughter and therefore must be the first to marry,” Gendry warned.

“Yes I know but Sansa is a romantic,” Myrcella said, “Perhaps if she knew your interest in her sister to be that of a loving connection, she would step aside quite willingly!” 

Gendry looked back down at Myrcella, an amused and very fond smile playing on his lips. 

“My sister, the eternal optimist,” he said wistfully, “It is a beautiful trait that I hope you never lose.” 

Myrcella returned his smile, reaching for his hand.

“I just want you to be happy, brother,” his sister said quietly, “We have watched our parents unhappy marriage for years, I do not wish the same for either of us nor our siblings.” 

“Even Joff?” Gendry teased. 

“Well with Joffrey, I tend to pity the woman whose husband he becomes rather than our brother,” Myrcella said with a small smirk, “but I still would not wish anything like that upon him.” 

Gendry smiled at his sister’s sweetness, gathering her hands. 

“And when the time comes ‘Cella, I shall do my upmost to ensure your happiness as well, although I hope it will not come just yet,” Gendry assured her. 

Myrcella clutched his hand tighter yet. 

“I know and I thank you brother,” was all she said.

They sat quietly in the garden for a minute just enjoying the peace and serenity it offered them. 

“Mother will probably be looking for you,” Gendry said after a couple of minutes of silence. 

“That or the Septa,” Cella agreed, “According to our mother, I need to look my best apparently so I am not outshined by Lady Sansa.” 

Gendry rolled his eyes.

“Yes of course,” Gendry said, standing up and pulling his sister back onto his arm, “I’ll take you to your rooms if you want, or to Mothers?” 

“Yes, I think that going to Mother’s rooms this evening will be unavoidable,” Myrcella said with a deep sigh, “May as well go now.” 

Gendry chuckled as they began to walk back through the halls of the Red Keep. 

\- 

“Please Arya, do not be difficult,” Lady Catelyn warned, “And stop telling me you do not want to wear a dress. I assure you, I know it well enough by now.” 

“And yet what lays on my bed to be worn tonight?” Arya bit back in exacerbation. 

Lady Catelyn rubbed her temples almost violently. 

“Just put the dress on now, Arya,” she said in a no-nonsense kind of voice that would have any other child of hers scurrying to do as they were told. 

Arya however just raised her eyebrows tacitly before allowing her mother to grasp her arm and pull her towards the bed where the green dress lay. 

“It will go nicely with your colouring and the Gods know that any man who sees you in that dress might actually think you capable of being his lady wife,” Lady Catelyn teased as she pulled the laces of the dress to loosen it before stuffing her rowdy child into it. 

“So that’s why you came to dress me tonight,” Arya complained as her mother pushed her down in front of her vanity, “You plan to parade me around as some…” 

She struggled for words for a second. 

“We are showing the beautiful lady you have become,” Catelyn said sternly before continuing coyly, “and if a man happens to inquire about an alliance between the houses…” 

“Then so much the better right?” Arya snapped. 

Catelyn let out a sigh as she began to pull a brush harshly through her daughter’s thick hair. 

“Just be polite tonight,” Lady Catelyn instructed, “Dance with anyone who asks, even the King, but please stay as far away from him as you can, Arya. We do not need any incidents, especially not in the Capital.” 

“I know, I know,” Arya said aggressively, wincing as her hair was worked on, “I am not as thick as Sansa, I understand the dangers of King’s Landing.” 

“Do not say that about your sister,” Lady Catelyn said immediately but eased her hold on the hairbrush, beginning to twist her daughters hair in a braid, “And perhaps it is best to stay out of the Prince’s way as well.” 

Arya meet her mother’s eyes in the mirror of her vanity. 

“I will not seek him out,” she said reasonably, “but if he seeks me out I shall not turn him away, we have become friends you know.” 

“Yes I have noticed,” Lady Catelyn said curtly, looking into her daughter’s eyes, “Do you think that wise?” 

Arya looked down for a second, contemplating, before answering. 

“I think it wise to have a amicable relationship with my future good brother and King,” she said sensibly. 

Lady Catelyn did not argue. In fact, she did not say a thing, just continued to braid Arya’s hair.

Lady Catelyn watched her daughter shyly consider herself in the mirror as her mother continued to do her hair. Lady Catelyn knew that Arya looked in the mirror and saw no beauty in her face. She saw a plain girl who looked like her father and paled in comparison to her elder sister.   
Lady Catelyn reached forward, shifting Arya’s hair over her shoulder. 

“You are so beautiful, my darling,” she breathed, against her daughter’s skin. 

Arya rolled her eyes in disbelief but when Arya’s eyes once more met her mother’s, Catelyn recognised gratitude in their nervous depths. 

“Perhaps you should also pay particular to the lordling of Starfall, Lord Edric Dayne,” Catelyn instructed suddenly. 

“Why?” Arya asked in a startled voice, frowning at her mother. 

Lady Catelyn sighed before squaring her shoulders off as if for battle. 

“He would be a good match Arya,” she said, cutting off Arya who looked like she was about to start arguing, “for you and for the Stark. I am not saying anything is confirmed, I have not even talked to your father about this, but he is of an age with you, I have heard that he is handsome and accomplished and extremely well-mannered…” 

“Well he sounds just perfect for me then,” Arya drawled sarcastically, “He is everything I am not.” 

“Well a good marriage is always give and take,” Catelyn instantly retorted. 

Arya just sighed angrily to which Catelyn frowned, moving to braid the last of her daughter’s hair. 

“Now you better not go and do anything that might upset Lord Edric,” Catelyn said hurriedly, “You are not marrying him yet Arya, he is merely someone that I have been considering for your hand…” 

Arya did not say anything but the scowl did not leave her face. 

“I mean it Arya…” 

“I know I know,” Arya growled, “I heard you. I will not do anything to embarrass you.” 

“To embarrass yourself and the name of Stark,” Lady Catelyn corrected with an emphasis on the word Stark, knowing that that would ensure Arya’s cooperation but again Arya remained silent. 

“Is that why you are here instead of with Sansa?” Arya asked sulkily. 

“Well your sister can most definitely be trusted to take care over her own appearance,” Catelyn pointed out, “You, my wayward daughter, cannot. Now come with me to your sister’s room and we will make our way to the feast.”   
Arya allowed herself to be pulled out of her chair and toward the door. Her mother’s iron grip kept a stern hold on her while she unlocked the door. 

“Just please be good, Arya,” she pleaded.

Arya just observed her mother for a second before flouncing off down the   
corridor. 

\- 

“Arya, let your hair alone,” Sansa said in between teeth that were being forced into a painful smile. 

Arya only pulled harder at the braids she wore either side of her hair. 

“Arya stop,” Sansa repeated, her perky smile dropping off her face as she angered. 

However that was not for long. Within a moment Sansa’s sweet smile was back in place. Arya couldn’t help but roll her eyes. 

“The braid are pulling at my scalp,” Arya grumbled through gritted teeth, “It hurts Sansa.” 

“Well for once you look rather respectable so here,” Sansa said, her hands moving to Arya’s hair. 

The pulling lessened until it was bareable. 

“Is that better?” Sansa said gently, looking inquisitively at her sister. 

Arya nodded. 

“I wish I could just cut it all off,” Arya groaned quietly. 

“Don’t be silly…” 

“Would you care to dance, my lady?” a voice interrupted them. 

Arya looked up to see the Prince standing in front of them, one foot up on the dais. His eyes were darting between the two girls but his hand was held out to Sansa. Sansa smiled in delight before taking his hand daintily. 

Arya watched them moved toward the other people dancing, all the eyes throughout the room fixating on their Prince dancing with his betrothed. Sansa looked radiant as she moved among the crowd, her hand in Gendry’s. 

Arya smiled wistfully. 

As irritating as she found Sansa, she was still glad to see her so happy.

“Arya,” her fathers voice snapped her out of her thoughts, “Come with me, there is someone I would like for you to meet.” 

Arya frowned as she stood up to take her fathers hand. She had known that at one stage of the night she would be forced to meet the apparently eligible Lord Dayne but she had hoped to have a little peace beforehand. This was too soon but still she walked, her arm tucked into her fathers. 

“I cannot believe that Mother has made you do her bidding so easily,” she said to her father. 

Her father just looked down at her solemnly before sighing. 

“Arya if it were up to me and there was not a world outside of Winterfell’s walls then I would let you run wild there forever,” he said, “But it so happens that there is a world outside of Winterfell and a woman needs a husband. I want your husband to be a good, kind, honourable man who lets you be yourself. Someone who does not beat you into any kind of submission.” 

“And you think some southron boy will abide by that?” Arya said with a condescending, rather unladylike snort. 

“A Dornishman, the Dornish are not traditional. They are more liberal,” Ned reminded, “we will see.” 

Arya rolled her eyes but allowed her father to lead her across the hall toward a tall, gangly looking man with pale blonde hair.

“Arya, this is Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall,” Ned said quietly, “Dayne, my youngest daughter, Lady Arya.” 

The boy smiled nervously before making an equally as nervous bow. 

“Lord Stark,” he said in greeting, his voice surprising assured, “Lady Arya, I am glad to meet you…” 

“Likewise,” Arya responded dryly. 

“Would you care to dance?” he asked quickly, gesturing to the dancers around them. 

Arya opened her mouth to make a dry remark, which included at least four out of the one hundred reasons that she would not like to dance. 

However she keenly felt her father’s presence in that moment and decided against the retort. Her insolence would pain him and she couldn’t bare the idea of paining her father.

“I would be honoured,” she said dryly, her sarcasm balant as she unravelled her arms from her father to begrudgingly take Lord Dayne’s hand, “Though I must warn you that I do not share my sister’s impeccable dancing skills.” 

The two of them looked to Sansa who was dancing gracefully in Gendry’s arms. 

“Not to worry,” Lord Dayne said with a conciliatory smile as he took her hand, “I am not such a graceful dancer myself. When I first began lessons and was taught to dance, my instructor took to whipping me round the ankles with any misstep as he was so sick of the frequency of them.”

Arya let out an unladylike snort of laughter as he led her towards the dancing couples. 

“You learnt all the steps rather rapidly after that I assume,” she said with an amused smile as they took up the dance. 

Lord Dayne nodded eagerly before beginning to talk again. His manner was not uncomfortable unlike his demeanour. Arya was rather pleased that he was not some awkward boy. However, she still didn’t want to marry him. 

“So I hear you enjoy riding, my lady?” he asked. 

Arya nodded placidly and the conversation flowed from there. They touched on so many of Arya’s favourite subjects from riding to fighting to her new found interesting in learning the technique of water dancing. Lord Dayne in turn told Arya of his home, of Dorne and its traditions. Arya found herself rather amused and intrigued by the Dornish, the Sand Snakes particularly. Their fighting skills seemed akin to Arya’s herself. 

“You should travel down to Dorne while you are in King’s Landing, my lady,” Lord Dayne had advised her, “My cousin Obara is no beauty but she handles a spear like very few in the world can. I think that you would enjoy her company.” 

Arya nodded eagerly. 

“I think I would like her very much, Lord Dayne, especially…” 

“Please call me Ned,” Ned interrupted, a teasing glint entering his eye, “Or Edric if that reminds you too much of your father.” 

Arya smiled cheekily back before nodding. 

“Only if you call me Arya, Ned.” 

“Certainly,” the boy said, a blush of pink slowly spreading over his cheeks. 

-

“You certainly seemed to get along with Lord Dayne last night, Arya,” Jon said as they saddled their horses early the next morning. 

“Yes, are you soon to become Lady Dayne?” Gendry asked, looking at her in amusement, “Will you soon be a Dornishman’s wife?” 

Arya snorted in an unladylike manner. 

“I am no more likely to become Lady Dayne than I am to become a knight…” 

“That’s only if you have your way Arya, I know Father is pushing for this match,” Jon reasoned before adding, “And your mother would push for any match with a man that would take you.” 

Arya nodded. 

“Perhaps but as kind as Ned is…” 

“Ned is it?” Gendry teased, internally uneasy, “Well Lady Dayne, when do you depart for your new home in Dorne?” 

Arya, who was at this stage mounted, reached over and sounding boxed the Prince’s ears. 

“Arya…” Jon snapped, looking pained. 

“What? He provoked me?” Arya said, hurried her horse forward. 

Gendry laughed, assuring Jon he had grown used to such behaviour from Arya. 

The two boys caught up to Arya momentarily. 

“So are you going to marry him?” Gendry asked curiously. 

Arya laughed. 

“I would sooner marry Jon.” 

“Be serious, Arya,” Jon snapped. 

Arya halted her house, causing the two boys to do the same. 

“I don’t want to marry anyone,” she said evenly. 

Gendry considered this, his eyes examining Arya. 

He could understand why marriage wasn’t agreeable to her, it was distasteful to him as well but surely she understood that it was a necessary evil of the world they lived in. 

“Now which one of you plans to race me?” Arya said, rearing back before kicking off, her horse bolting forward. 

Gendry and Jon didn’t move, both quite entranced by the sight of Arya flying forward, her hair streaming in the wind as she rode. 

Jon let out a sigh. 

“Father told me this morning that they have already organised a marriage contract with the Dayne’s,” Jon said dully, “She’ll be a Dornishman wife soon and Father has forbid me to tell her.” 

Gendry was silent for a minute, considering this. 

“Your father would not marry Arya to Ned Dayne if she did not want to be wed…” Gendry said, trailing off in uncertainty, “I cannot imagine Lord Stark doing that…” 

“Perhaps not but Lady Stark is inclined to have Arya married soon for some reason,” Jon said, “And they both think that the fact that Dayne and Arya were even able to get along is more promising that any other suitor that they have considered.”

Gendry was silent once again. 

“So my sister will be confined to South, to Dorne, left to marry a lord and play a lady,” Jon said glumly, “And she can’t even see it coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All feedback is welcome and appreciated!! Please let me know what you think of this chapter!!


	9. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realising what her future includes, Arya makes a decision...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back and bad! Hope you like this chapter! I certainly do (for some reason, I think it will end up as one of my favourites)! Let me know what you think! I have a certain direction planned for this story, excited that its finally going more in that direction!
> 
> Flashbacks are in italics! 
> 
> Also in other thoughts, want to change this fic's name, like can I do that this late in the game? Let meeee know beautiful people!

 

The firelight danced in Arya’s eyes, the reflection mesmerising as Gendry stared at her.

 

Her eyes looked like molten steel, oozing heat. They truly were arresting and beautiful.

 

“Are you planning on telling me why you are running away?” he inquired, “By yourself no less.”

 

Arya said nothing, only continuing to look into the fire.

 

“Aren’t fanciful girls of your age meant to run off with a lover in the dead of night in a desperate attempt to be with their one true love?” he teased with a decisive snort.

 

“Arya?” he questioned.

 

Arya sighed before moving forward to prod the wood in the fire. She took her time before talking.

 

“Did you know?” she asked with a quiet sigh.

 

“Did I know what?” Gendry asked with a confused frown.

 

Arya looked up at him, her eyes full to the brim with pain and anger.

 

“That they were going to marry me off with or without my permission,” she whispered.

 

Gendry’s eyes darted down to the floor, guilt flooding him.

  
“You knew,” Arya gasped, “Why…Did everyone but me know that I was being sold off to Starfall? That I had no say what so ever in my fate?”

 

Gendry drew his gaze back up to Arya’s penetrating glare.

 

-

 

_Arya was bathing when a knock sounded on the door of her chambers._

_She frowned but still called out for the person on the other side to enter her room._

_“Arya my dear,” her lady Mother’s voice emerged from behind her, “I do not mean to interrupt. I did not realise that you were bathing…”_

_Arya cast a look over her shoulder, watching as her mother came closer toward the large tub that sat next to the fire._

_“Don’t trouble yourself Mother,” Arya said easily, giving her mother a smile, “Did you need something?”_

_A smile lit Lady Catelyn face as she nodded._

_“When you’re dressed, your father and I would like to have a word with you?” Catelyn said gently, “I had come to escort you but since you’re bathing…”_

_Arya frowned as her mother trailed off. What would her parents want to talk to her about?_

_Her curiosity quickly won out as she prepared to get out of the warm bath._

_“No it is fine,” Arya said beginning to raise herself out of the bath, “If you give me a minute I will be dressed and we can go to talk to father now if that suits?”_

_Catelyn nodded before going over to Arya’s trunks, sorting through it distractedly, likely looking for the girlish dresses that Arya had thrown into the bottom of the trunk._

_Why do they want to talk to me, Arya pondered thoughtfully._

_Her first instinct was that this had to be something concerning Ned Dayne, he was of course a topic between them at the moment. Dread coursed through her at the thought of discussing a marriage alliance with them concerning the Lord of Starfall._

_It had been days since they had all met and Arya found him not only agreeable but also extremely pleasing. He was the type of person she would happily be friends with. He was charming and well-mannered enough for both her mother and sister yet he was also prepared to practice with Arya behind the training yards, teaching her different techniques that he was taught by Ser Beric. She was actually becoming quite fond of the boy._

_However Arya was weary of being too openly friendly with Ned Dayne lest her parents interpret that as a sign that would happily marry him. Gods knew she did not want to marry him regardless of how fun it was to spar against him._

_She quickly told herself that that would not be the topic of conversation. Her father knew, as she had told him plainly and continuously, that she held no desire to marry the lordling of Starfall. He would not force her. Of that fact she was confident._

_Her mother dressed her without a word. Her hands seemed to shake with some sort of feeling that Arya interpreted as fear._

_“Is something wrong mother?” Arya asked, grasping her mother hand as she came to her shoulder after she had braided her hair._

_Catelyn shook her head quickly, supressing a happy smile._

_Arya looked wearily at her mother._

_“Not yet my sweet, let us go to your father’s rooms.”_

_Together they walked towards her father chambers, coming to a stop at the door._

_Arya watched her mother with weary eyes as she pushed open the door to her father’s rooms._

_Her father looked up immediately, a smile that was so solemn yet so warm lit up his face. He stood up, coming around his desk towards them. Arya immediately let go of her mother, rushing toward her father’s open arms._

_“Arya, my child,” he said quietly, “You look well this morning.”_

_Arya smiled benignly up at her father, her eyes adoring as they gazed open him._

_Ned Stark, for his part looked taken aback, bringing a finger to stroke her cheek._

_“You’re so like your aunt,” he said so quietly that Arya had to strain her ears to hear properly._

_However before she could remark, her father was guiding her to sit next to him on a chaise._

_“Arya,” he began slowly._

_“What is it Father?” she asked impatiently._

_Lord Stark took a deep breath in, gently stroking her cheek once again with his fingers._

_“I have arranged a marriage for you, with Lord Dayne of Starfall.”_

_Arya stomach twisted. There was no question in her father’s word. It was a statement. She would be marrying Lord Dayne despite her feelings on the matter._

_“Father, please…” Arya whispered desperately._

_“The young Lord is already Head of his house after his father passed,” Ned went on, “He is squiring under Lord Beric Dondarrion here in Kings Landing but once you marry, he will accompany you back to Starfall . It will all be worked out so that he can carry on his squiring duties while married…”_

_“Father…” Arya said once more, louder this time._

_She could hear the heartbreak in her own voice. She knew her father would hear it too._

_“He is a good man Arya,” her mother cut in while her father nodded in agreement, “He is young, aptly titled for the daughter of a Stark and your marriage to him with secure an alliance with Dorne, a relationship that has been precarious since the death of Elia Martell and the end of the Targaryen reign…”_

_“I don’t care, I don’t want to marry him,” Arya said, cutting her mother off._

_Both her parents seemed to sigh. They would have inevitably been expecting such a reaction from her. Her father stood up, walking to the window, staring out it calmly while Catelyn walked over to take his place next to Arya._

_“Arya, you must marry,” Catelyn reasoned gently, stroking her daughter’s cheek, “You’re of age now, six and ten years. You’re beautiful and intelligent. You must marry. Your brother will be married soon, your sister is engaged to be married and…”_

_“That doesn’t mean I have to get married…” Arya spat with venom._

_“Arya,” her mother said firmly, “You are six and ten years, you must see that accepting Lord Dayne is in your best interests…”_

_“So now I get a chance to accept,” Arya yelled, standing up, “I thought that I didn’t have a choice in the matter. If I do, then I decline his proposal.”_

_Lady Catelyn scowled, lines going deep into her forward at her daughter’s obstinacy._

_“You cannot decline,” Lady Catelyn said urgently, taking one of Arya’s hands in both of her own._

_Arya’s opened her mouth in confusion. Why wouldn’t she be able to decline? It was a proposal? She had the option to refuse it._

_Then it all made sense._

_“You accepted on my behalf,” Arya said, her voice beginning to rise to a tenor of hysterical anger, “You didn’t breathe a word of it, knowing I would refuse. You already accepted the man didn’t you, Mother?”_

_Her parents were silent._

_Lord Stark continued to stare out the window of the room while her mother looked pained but certain._

_“It would be great insult to reject the proposal now, after your father and I have already accepted…” Catelyn began quietly._

_Arya gasped, tearing her hand out of her mothers._

_“You sold me without even asking my consent,” Arya gasped, genuinely feeling shock echoing through her entire being._

_She had not thought her parents as capable of that._

_“We did not sell you, my love,” Lady Catelyn said, standing, “We are merely trying to settle you amiably…”_

_“Without my consent,” Arya yelled, ‘Into an institution that you know I abhor.”_

_“Arya…”_

_“No mother,” Arya interrupted, “I don’t want to marry. I don’t want to marry Lord Dayne, I don’t want to marry anyone.”_

_“Arya…” Lady Catelyn began recapturing her daughter’s hand._

_Arya did not give her mother a moment to finish her sentence._

_She broke away, running to her father, forcing his eyes to look to hers as she clutched his arms._

_“Father,” Arya pleaded, “don’t make me marry him, please, I beg you…”_

_“Arya,” Catelyn called again, her voice beginning to have an edge of anger to it resonance._

_Arya ignored her mother in favour of letting out a sob. She hadn’t cried in years and now here she was, sobbing like a child at the thought of marriage._

_“Father,” Arya gasped out, pressing herself into his arms, “Please Father, allow me to go home, to go the Winterfell, back to Robb… Don’t make me do this…”_

_“Arya,” Catelyn repeated, her voice growing steely._

_“Please Father, I don’t want to marry…”_

_Arya choked on her final words. Tears were flooding down her face as she looked up in her father once again, who did not return her look._

_“Please Father, its not in me to marry…” she pleaded, “You know that, you promised me.”_

_At that, Lord Stark’s eyes snapped up to meet his daughter’s. Grey eyes stared into grey eyes._

_“Sweeting,” he said, gathering his sobbing daughter into his arms, “I didn’t want this path for you…”_

_Arya wound her arms around her father’s neck, relishing in his protective embrace as she continued to weep._

_“However you cannot avoid marriage forever, my child,” he said, “And I don’t think I could find a man better suited than Lord Dayne…”_

_Arya felt her father’s word reverberate through his chest, dread crawling through her own chest._

_“I think you should consider him more closely,” Lord Stark said into her hair, “I haven’t given my word, upon my honour as a Stark, yet but your mother is right, Arya we did accept the terms.”_

_Arya froze._

_She hadn’t expected her father to push her into marriage. He had always been so respectful of her. He had always allowed her to run around in breeches and learn to handle swords. He had never expected her to be more than just herself. Yet here he was now, asking her to marry a man that she didn’t want to._

_Arya drew back, looking at her father with the pain of betrayal deep in her eyes._

_“Father…” she whispered._

_“I’m sorry Arya…”_

_-_

_After she had escaped the room, ignoring her parents calling for her, Arya had done the only thing she could think of, she ran to Jon._

_Jon. Her brother that had always understood her. Her favourite brother, her favourite sibling really._

_“Jon,” Arya called as she ran through the training yards, skirts ripping as she tripped on them, uncaring of their state, “Jon.”_

_Her brother turned around a smile on his face that quickly melted when he saw the tears streaming down her face._

_“Arya,” he said urgently, coming forward to catch her in his arms, “Little sister, what’s wrong? What happen? Tell me now... ”_

_“Jon, they are going to force me to marry Ned Dayne,” she said, her voice nearing on hysterical, “You have to help me Jon, help me run from this pit…”_

_Jon jumped, pulling her into his arms before he began to guide her away from the practicing men staring at them._

_“Arya,” he said quietly as they walked out of the practice yards, “Hush now and tell me what happened?”_

_Arya let out an angry sob, roughly wiping a tear from her cheek._

_“I have just came from seeing Mother and Father,” she wailed._

_“And they told you that they were to marry Lord Dayne?” Jon asked patiently._

_Arya nodded, her hair swaying and trembling as if it sensed her despair._

_“I don’t want to marry him,” Arya cried._

_“I know, I wish that I could help…”_

_“You can. Lets go Jon,” she said, fervour renewed as she looked up at him, “We can go back to Winterfell, north of the Wall, Essos like we wanted to as children! Anywhere in the world would be better than here right now!”_

_“Arya,” Jon sighed._

_“Please Jon,” she pleaded, swinging around to face him, her eyes piercing him as she began to plead with him, “I don’t want to marry him.”_

_“Arya,” Jon said, bringing his hands up to cup her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs, “I’m sorry, sister. I should have warned you…”_

_Arya blinked, her hand_

_“Wait, you knew?” Arya said, her body freezing as she watched Jon._

_Jon’s eyes skipped down to the floor for a second before their gaze once more returned to Arya’s. His eyes looked agonised he stared down at her._

_“Father told me,” Jon admitted, “but only after I overheard him talking to Lord Dayne…”_

_“And you didn’t tell me?” Arya said, her voice dropping in volume, a deadly tone emerging._

_Jon gave her a sorrowful look._

_“I overheard him speaking to Lord Dayne, Arya, and when Father saw me, he swore me to secrecy,” Jon explained, his voice having a ring of desperation to it, “I wanted to tell you but Father said I wasn’t to tell you. He wanted to be the one to share the news with you..”_

_Arya wanted to say something, anything really but she couldn’t find her voice. She felt beyond just betrayed. She felt the violation of her trust in Jon right through to her bones. Jon was her brother, the person who had understood her the best out of her entire family and now he was the person who had left her to an unwanted fate._

_“Arya,” Jon’s voice cut through her thoughts, “You know…”_

_“What do I know?” Arya said blankly before rage built up in her chest, “I know that you betrayed me.”_

_“Arya please… you have to understand,” Jon said, catching her hand and pulling her into him, “You got on rather well with Lord Dayne from your first meeting. He is a honourable man from what others say about him and I know that you have been sparring with him for weeks. I thought you might want to marry him…”_

_Arya pushed Jon back, absolutely enraged._

_“I would still be married to him, Jon. You know that that’s nothing something I would ever want.”_

_“Arya…” he pleaded._

_“Do not say my name,” she spat, picking up what was left of her torn skirts before swirling around to run back towards the keep._

_Jon stood there helplessly as he watched her go._

 

-

 

“So you ended up here?”

 

Arya looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for a second before looking back down dully and nodding.

 

-

 

_Arya ripped off her dress as soon as she reached her room, not even closing the door until she was only in a plain shift. The remainder of the ripped dress was immediately thrown angrily into the corner of Arya’s chambers._

_When she finally slammed her door, she leant against it, unsure what to do next. Arya’s mind was spinning in a million different directions. She couldn’t make sense of anything. It was like she was in another world._

_She brought a hand to her face, finding tears there that she violently wiped away. She couldn’t believe she was crying at a time like this. She should be angry, not sad. Not heartbroken but enraged with anger hotter than dragon’s fire._

_Arya turned vehemently, her back pressed against the door as her angry gaze swept around her chambers. She ran toward her clothes, ripping out an old tunic and a pair of Bran’s old breeches before pulling them on._

_It took Arya only a second to realise that she needed to leave the Red Keep, the city if she could. She wanted to go home, to go north back to Winterfell. Truly she wanted to go anywhere that wasn’t King’s Landing._

_A more practical voice nagged at her, telling her that this was immature. That she shouldn’t be even thinking of attempting a journey that far on her own. That it was dangerous and she would be dead at the hands of a rapist by the time she even made it into the Riverlands._

_However another part of Arya didn’t care. In fact a part of her wanted to do this to punish her parents, to make them live with the fear that she was dead. It was cruel but at that moment Arya felt a sickening calmness settle over her at the thought of punishing them like that._

_The only things she collected before she left were rations and weapons. That’s all she would need to survive. She didn’t leave a note. That would be too easy for her parents. She would be dragged back to the Red Keep by nightfall._

_She got to the gates of the Red Keep before considering her next step. She wanted to go North but her parents would find her instantly if she headed North directly. Arya looked to her left, instantly making a decision before beginning her journey south-east toward the sea. After she journeyed south for a time, she could loop back up North, or catch a ship North._

_As soon as she broke through the city gates, Arya felt empowered. She felt free. She felt overjoyed. She urged her horse on faster._

 

-

 

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for you to run off?” Gendry said impatiently.

 

He took a deep breath in, trying to stay calm.

 

Arya looked up at her, a stubborn glint in her eyes.

 

“I could get back north by myself,” she said stubbornly.

 

-

 

_Bells rang through the Red Keep as Gendry walked through the halls toward the privy chamber._

_He frowned, a confused scowl on his face._

_What was going on?_

_He quickened his pace toward the Privy Council chambers, only to find the room empty on arrival. He left as quickly as he had arrived, moving toward the throne room._

_His instinct to go to the throne room had been correct. The entireties of the King’s councillors were there as well as his mother. Squires were rushing in and out of the room, each looking more stressed than the last. ._

_His father was seated on the iron throne, for once, not bellowing for a drink._

_Gendry felt a wave of genuine fear course through him. If his father wasn’t drinking then there must be something seriously wrong._

_The Starks were there as well, each looking more drawn than the other. Sansa in particular was weeping while Lady Catelyn held her._

_He looked around, before storming up to his mother, who stood up to greet him with a smile that reached her eyes for once._

_She must have been drinking. She was always more outwardly loving to her children after a drink or several._

_“Gendry,” she said, “There you are. I thought you would still be in the training yards. I had just sent a servant to fetch you.”_

_She reached up, both her hands stroking his shoulders in a fit of rare affection._

_“No Mother, I was going to meet with the Privy Council in father’s stead,” he explained before gesturing around the room, “What in the name of the Seven is going on?”_

_His mother rolled her eyes._

_“The youngest Stark girl is gone. Run away or kidnapped, we don’t know yet,” she said flippantly, “All we know is that young Arya Stark is no longer inside the Red Keep.”_

_Ice cold fear shot through Gendry._

_“What?” he croaked out, his voice momentarily losing its momentum before it returned in full force, “What? How? What in the name of the Seven hells has happened? How did this happen…”_

_His mother pressed a gentle finger to his lips._

_“Hush sweeting, do not waste your voice,” she said in a bizarrely soothing voice, “We are not sure but search parties are being sent out to look for the audacious child.”_

_Gendry nodded, barely taking note of his mother and her gentle hands. His mind was running rampant with thoughts of Arya. Where she was? What had happen? So many thoughts and ideas…_

_“... stupid girl, they think she ran away…”_

_Cersei’s voice drifted into Gendry’s mind as she continued to talk._

_“How many search parties have been sent out?” Gendry demanded._

_“Enough to find the girl,” Cersei said with an uncaring shrug. She lifted an arm up to stroke his cheek. Gendry caught her wrist, holding it, albeit not tightly._

_“She’s Lord Stark’s daughter Mother,” he growled, “How can you not care?”_

_Cersei looked up at him, her eyes fierce, though somewhat glazed._

_“I only care for my children, such as you my son,” she said heatedly, “It makes life a lot simpler if you only love and care for your children.”_

_“And leave other’s children to rot,” Gendry said through gritted teeth._

_“Yes but all other men leave other people’s children to rot then, don’t they?” Cersei said quietly._

_Gendry just stared down at her with narrowed eyes._

_“However if you want to find your little lover then I will assist you,” Cersei said with careful love in her eyes._

_Gendry’s eyes flew to his mothers._

_“Lover… what?”_

_Cersei laughed, reaching up to cup his cheek._

_“You think I don’t know my own son? You think I can’t tell when he is falling in love? You think I don’t have people of my own assuring your safety at all time, what kind of mother do you think I am?” Cersei said, stroking his jaw with light fingers, “My own little bird, as Lord Varys would so eloquently say, saw your little kiss with Arya Stark in the Godswood of Winterfell. Honestly what is with Baratheon men and their Stark women?”_

_Gendry shrugged, an attempt as indifference although he was almost physically trembling with annoyance and outright rage that was only mildly smoothed by her earlier proclamations._

_“And here I was thinking the only children you cared about where the ones that looked like Lannisters,” Gendry said through gritted teeth._

_Gendry’s mother considered his words for a moment before shrugging._

_“There has been distance between us for a while,” she allowed, “But you’re my son and I love you more than you can even fathom…”_

_Gendry paused his eyes glued to his mother’s eyes. She was so rarely affectionate to him. The last time he could vividly remember her holding him was went he was six and his father wanted him to watch the Knights of the Vale in a tourney. He had been spattered with the blood of a knight whose head had been smashed open by his father’s war hammer. Cersei had gone into a rage, cursing his father before gathering him into her arms and holding him while he vomited and then when he sobbed. She had whispered and held him all day, protecting him in her embrace._

_She leant forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek that lingered. She was standing there, close to him. It was almost like she was breathing him in._

_“Your clever girl must have anticipated her parents chasing her north,” she whispered, “she went east, toward the sea, towards Storm End.”_

_With that, his mother backed away from him with a knowing glint in her eyes. Gendry pressed forward, stopping her. He leant forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. She froze but quickly melted into his arms, embracing him._

_“Thank you Mother.”_

_Gendry pulled away, nodding at her before turning away, quickening his steps toward his chambers._

_He was riding for Storm’s End tonight._

 

-

_Jon found him as he saddled his horse._

_“You’re going to look for my sister aren’t you?” he asked, a frown creasing on her brow._

_Gendry’s eyes skipped over to look at Jon with a frown._

_“I think I know where she is,” he said quickly in an attempt to explain his actions._

_Jon signed, his entire demeanour sinking._

_“She came to me a couple of hours ago, out of her mind with anger and panic,” he said glumly, “I told her that I knew and she was even more furious.”_

_Jon looked so contrite._

_“Don’t worry I will find her,” Gendry assured him._

_Gendry didn’t hear Jon approach him. He only felt his hand on his shoulder._

_“She’s not your betrothed, Gendry,” he said in a solemn voice, “It doesn’t look right for you to be setting out to search for her.”_

_Gendry shook Jon’s hand of his shoulder before swinging up onto his horse. He looked back down at his friend._

_To his surprise, Jon was passing him up something that was wrapped in travelling cotton._

_“Food,” he said helpfully, “You probably shouldn’t be looking for her but thank you for doing it anyway.”_

_Gendry smiled, nodding at him before spurring on his horse._

 

-

 

“I cannot believe you honestly decided to go north?” he almost shouted at her, “Do you even realise how stupid that is? How dangerous it is? It took me hours to find you and I thought you were dead on the side of the Kingsroad the entire. The only thing that kept me half sane was knowing how good you were at defending yourself...””

 

“You’re the stupid one if you think I don’t know that,” Arya shouted in return, “I know I can’t get North by myself without being killed or raped. I am sensible but I just…”

 

Arya paused, her face crumbling.

 

“I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to leave that dreadful city and I did not know another way to do it,” Arya wailed.

 

Gendry felt his heart soften.

 

She was just a girl really, old enough to be married yet young enough to be overwhelmed enough to run. She was impulsive, passionate and resourceful, young enough to want to follow her heart instead of being restricted by the bounds of duty.

 

Gendry’s eyes examined her between the flames, her eyes desperately searching his; unshed tears filling her eyes to the brim.

 

“If you come back with me to King’s Landing,” he said slowly, “I will talk to your father or get the King to talk to your father about postponing your wedding…”

 

Arya looked up with a sharp breath, her eyes looking anxiously at his.

 

“What?” she breathed.

 

“I’m a Prince,” he said indifferently, “I would like to think that my word has some sway. I most likely would not able to dissuade your father from marrying you off but perhaps, I would be able to push him to postpone the wedding until you feel more ready for it.”

 

“You would do that?” she questioned before she frowned once more, “I doubt Father would listen to you. I am his daughter and he didn’t listen to me…”

 

“I know that you don’t believe it Arya but I genuinely think that your father is only hoping for your happiness. You know better than me that your Father is a good man Arya. He would do such a thing if it would give you some happiness.”

 

Arya sighed deeply; her entire body seemed to crumble with relief. After a couple of moments of silence Gendry decided to continue.

 

“In his own opinion, Lord Stark had found a lord of good standing, a good man who won’t beat you into submission, who seems to enjoy your impertinence,” Gendry said, “Not many men would fit that description any longer Arya. Most men would beat the spirit out of you within a few months of marriage and knowing you, you would be dead much before that because you would fight back.”

 

Arya was quiet. They both knew there was more than just a sliver of truth to the Prince’s words.

 

“I don’t want to marry,” she said stubbornly.

 

“What do you want then?” he asked, “Most girls want what you’re being given. A handsome, young lord and a grand home to rule over and manage. Lots of children, once day grandchildren even. These are the things I know Cella wants, the things your own sister wants but what do you want?”

 

Arya looked up at him strangely and it occurred to him that she had probably never been asked this question. She would never have been consulted on what she wanted. She was a woman with a kind father but a woman none the less. Women were not consulted much on the direction that their lives would take.

 

Gendry felt a wave of empathy roll through him at the thought of that.

 

“I just want to be free,” she said quietly, “I want to be able to practice swordsmanship as my own craft and travel with Jon. I want to be a knight, not a lady.”

 

She sighed once more and it occurred to Gendry, that Arya was just as tired as her father at fighting all this.

 

“I just want to be free.”

 

Gendry looked over her carefully. They were both quiet for a moment.

 

“Then we shall see what we can do,” Gendry said calmly, “But only if you come with me tomorrow.”

 

Arya looked up at him shrewdly before nodding her head once.

 

“Get some sleep, I’ll keep a look out,” Gendry said, looking out into the darkness, “Its going to be a long ride tomorrow.”

 

Arya nodded, lying down next to the fire, her eyes remaining locked on his face.

 

“Thank you,” she stuttered, faltering as she spoke, “I know you might not be able to do any of what you said to me but the thought that you’re even trying brings me great comfort. Thank you.”

 

Gendry nodded, his eyes watching her. The firelight reflected off her eyes, making them almost glitter.

 

He couldn’t help but continue to stare at her. She was resting on her side, looking up at him. She was beautiful, even with sticks in her hair and donned in old breeches. So very beautiful.

 

“You know I would do anything for you Arya,” he said quietly, in awe of her.

 

Arya said nothing and they both were quiet.

 

-

 

Arya followed Gendry as they rode back to toward King’s Landing the next day. She followed him blindly. For once she didn’t want to be in front. Instead she wanted to be as far away as was physically possible even as she travelled closer to the awful city.

 

Gendry didn’t talk much, neither of them did but when he did.

 

It wasn’t until they neared the sea that Arya even realised perhaps they weren’t going in the right direction. However she immediately assumed that they were going a different way, a more direct route than the Kings’ Road. Gendry had grown up between Storm’s End and the Red Keep after all. He would surely know this lands as well as she knew the lands surrounding Winterfell.

 

When they neared cliffs and a castle, so unlike the Red Keep, appeared in the horizon, Arya began to ask questions.

 

“You’re not taking me back to King’s Landing, are you?” she asked carefully.

 

Gendry looked at her with a fond smile.

 

“I thought perhaps a few days away from King’s Landing was in order, we will stay with my uncle Renly at Storm’s End,” Gendry said, “We will send word to your parents after we arrive, telling them of your safety and how a terrible storm will keep us confined to Storm’s End for a time. For now, let us consider Storm’s End a reprieve from the toxicity of the Red Keep.”

 

Arya’s smile was blinding. She nodded eagerly before spurring her horse forward. With a laugh, Gendry followed as together they rode toward the castle at break neck speed.

 

-

 

Arya almost fell as she dismounted at Storm’s End. She had been too preoccupied with gazing up at the ancient castle rather than watching her footing.

 

Gendry let out a laugh as she caught herself before gracefully dismounting. Arya glared at him in annoyance before turning away to hide her own smile of wry amusement.

 

“Nephew,” a jovial voice called.

 

Arya spun around to see a man, who was remarkable similar to Gendry in both appearance and age, coming toward them with open, welcoming arms.

 

“Uncle Renly,” the Prince called back, a smile in his voice.

 

“I must say when one of the sentry’s said that two riders were approaching, you were the last person I was expecting to come through that gate,” Renly replied with an amused smile.

 

“More like you were expecting Loras Tyrell, that’s why you rushed down to greet your visitor,” the Prince teased good-naturedly.

 

Renly rolled his eyes in reply before his eyes turned to Arya, examining her carefully.

 

“Sorry Uncle, this is Lady Arya Stark, daughter of…”

 

“Ned,” Renly said, cutting his nephew off, “Of course you’re Ned’s daughter, I could tell from a mile away. I must say I have never seen such a close resemblance to Lyanna Stark. It has been too many years since I last saw your father.”

 

Arya looked down uncomfortably. Aunt Lyanna was something that no one in her family ever talked about. Renly must have noticed her discomfort as he quickly continued.

 

“Welcome to Storm’s End, my dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE COMMENT! I am a comment whoreeee :) Also let me know if its weird if I change the story name now... 
> 
> HAVE A GREAT DAY and remember, you're perfect just the way you are! (I'm trying to be a guru apparently)


	10. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace for a time at Storm's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! 
> 
> I really loved writing this chapter (maybe that's why I took so long to finish it), hope you share that sentiment with me! Its a long one, let me know what you think! 
> 
> *** Also I am so excited for Season 7!!!

Renly was much too polite to ask why they were at Storm’s End, alone and without a routine or even a single escort. 

Instead he ushered them eagerly toward the castle and then toward a meal that was closely followed by course after course after course. 

The time in between each course was filled with lively chatter. Arya almost felt like she was a puppet in a play, a charade of some sort. It was bizarre but it was also fun. Renly made it fun. 

Renly Baratheon was lively, kind and intelligent but most of all he was an entertainer. Everything seemed to be like a play, his stories and his entire demeanour. Arya couldn’t help but take a quick liking to the young man who resembled his nephew so closely.

Gendry seemed to enjoy himself as well. Away from the stresses of court, he seems to almost deflate with relief and relaxation. As he had confided in Arya earlier, his only concern was to leave his younger siblings at the mercy of Joffrey, otherwise his smile was comfortable and his entire demeanour relaxed. He was relaxed and happy. At one point Arya thought he might even be a little drunk considering how much more loose he was with his tongue. 

“So my lady,” Renly said, “I hear much of your beauty and wit from court…” 

Arya snorted and so did Gendry. 

“That’s unlikely,” she said dryly, taking a sip of tyoshi brandy, relishing in its sweet taste for a moment. 

Renly grinned, his eyes sparkling. 

“I’ll admit, I have heard less of your beauty and wit than of your skill and interest in less ladylike pursuits, swordplay among them,” he commented with a sly smile. 

“Now that sounds more like Arya,” Gendry said with a nod of firm approval. 

Arya grinned in turn, looking between the mean with a happy shrug of her shoulders. 

“I do enjoy fighting,” she admitted silkily, “And riding… like a man, a feat that seemed extremely incredible to all your Southern ladies.” 

Renly nodded, approval shining through his movements. 

“Do you aspire to be a knight?” he asked, a note of teasing in his voice that Arya did not like, “Perhaps a worthy contender for young Gendry’s Kingsguard one day?” 

Gendry let out a bout of good-hearted laughter. 

“Well I would certainly feel safer with Arya in my Kingsguard,” he said, looking between his uncle and her and Arya could have kissed him in that moment because his whole demeanour had become serious and meaningful. 

He wasn’t teasing her or making light of her ambitions and talent. He was supporting her, asserting that she was a powerful fighter who he admired. Arya’s eyes glowed with gratitude, she could feel it leaking out of them.

“However I’m afraid that fate belongs to Jon, Arya’s elder brother. Arya’s future currently lies in Dorne as far as I understand...” 

He must be drunk; Arya thought immediately, he wouldn’t dare to bring that up if he weren’t deep into his cups. Gendry knew she did not want to think on that entire subject for a minute while they were away from the capital. 

“Oh really?” Lord Renly asked, twisting his signet ring in interest and intrigue, “Are you betrothed to a Dornishman, perhaps promised to one of the Martel heirs? Set to become a Dornishman’s wife, as the song goes?”

Arya shook her head before sculling the last of her brandy. 

“Not if I can help it,” she said bluntly. 

“Nor I,” Gendry agreed, “You are much too precious to be shut up in Dorne, my love…” 

The endearment slipped out of Gendry’s mouth without a thought or care in the world, but Arya felt the two words reverberate through her, her heart leaping up for some stupid reason. 

Yes very, very deep into his cups, Arya thought, her cheeks warm. Gendry had never said anything of that ilk before… 

Arya quickly charged on, taking note of Renly’s interested glances between the two of them. 

“What of you, Lord Renly,” she asked, swirling the dredges of brandy in the patterned glass, “Where exactly does your future lie? Perhaps a wife awaiting you in the wings, I do not seem to remember you being a married man…” 

The question posed could have easily been viewed as an innocent one, and mostly it was, being merely a distraction, a way to move focus from Arya’s own affairs. However it was met with some sort of loaded silence that Arya did not quite understand. 

Renly cocked his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers with only a small frown to crease his brow. 

“I do not know, Lady Arya, I will just have to see where time and the King’s pleasure takes me,” he said with the quirk of a mysterious smile, “You may not be pleased to hear this but by God, you are like your aunt.” 

Arya’s eyes dropped from Renly’s before they ventured back up, curiosity overtaking her. 

No one ever talked about Lyanna Stark. She seemed to be the tender spot for an entire kingdom. For her father it was a spot of pain. His beloved sister raped and murdered all before she was ten and seven. Her uncle’s attitude had been the same as her father’s.

Her mother had known as much as Arya had, as much as her brothers and sister all had. The king had said more about Lyanna during her short time in King’s Landing than she had heard in her entire life and even he had not provided details. All Arya knew about her was that her father seemed to grow nostalgic sometimes when he looked at her, his eyes grow soft and murky. 

“Really?” Arya ventured. 

Renly nodded eagerly. 

“I know Lady Lyanna is not much talked of any longer but sitting here, is like looking at her, returned from the dead and glowing,” Renly said, placing his goblet down as his hands began to move, expressing his evident belief, “You have her look exactly. That stern Northern beauty that so mesmerized my brother all those years ago…” 

Renly paused, his eyes sliding over to Gendry for so brief a second that Arya barely caught it. 

“But more than that,” he continued with an undertone of urgency, “Your manner, your habits, everything that makes you yourself makes you more and more like Lyanna. She too had a fondness of unladylike pursuits.” 

Arya smiled at that, watching as Renly seemed to float away into his own thoughts. 

“She was kind, your aunt. She had a fondness for beauty that perhaps you lack,” he said, “but you seem to have made up it in every other regard. She was kind and loyal to the North. Suspicious of anyone who was not a Northerner. Liked archery and swordplay from what I saw, but she was never given the opportunity you were to pursue it…” 

“She was an excellent rider,” Arya commented abruptly, saying one of the few things she knew about her aunt. 

“Aye, she was,” Renly nodded, “I was barely a boy when she was at Harrenhall but I remember the way she handled a horse. Like she was part of it, an extension of it.” 

Arya nodded. 

“For certain then,” Gendry’s deep voice cut in, startling them both, “You  
most definitely are your aunt’s niece.” 

Arya looked over at Gendry, nodding at his estimation. 

“Arya handles a horse better than anyone I have ever seen,” Gendry commented to Renly. 

Renly nodded and their conversation flowed from there, ventured on to more apt but less poignant subjects. Arya wanted to interrupt, wanted to ask more about Lyanna from the one person who was willing to speak candidly about her but she decided against it. Perhaps her and Renly would get more of a chance to speak on the subject before they left the Stormlands… otherwise perhaps it was better not to know. 

-

Arya couldn’t sleep. She always had difficulty sleeping in a different bed. After leaving Winterfell, it had taken her weeks to adjust to sleeping on the bed in her chambers in the Red Keep. Now she was having the same issue at Storm’s End. Arya envied her younger self. She used to be able to sleep anywhere. 

So instead she wandered through the halls of Storm’s End, intent on finding the hammer used by Robert Baratheon to slay the last Dragon King as it was rumoured to be on display here. Wandering room to room was different. The castle was closed yet somehow full of both fresh air and the oppressive heat that clung to the Stormlands. 

Arya had finished climbing stairs when she saw a slither of light in the distance, beaming out of the slit of a door. She moved toward it unconsciously, her own curiosity getting the better of her rationality. 

She heard Gendry’s laugh and relaxed immediately. When she had started to yawn, Renly had shooed them both off to bed and Arya had gone willingly, taking her place in her featherbed until it became clear that sleep was not going to come easy to her that night. As far as Arya knew Gendry had also crept off to his chamber to sleep into a new day. 

Arya crept forward, listening as their voices became less muffled, as she got closer. 

“So Gendry, am I mistaken nephew or aren’t betrothed to Sansa Stark not Arya Stark?” Renly asked, a note of archness in his voice. 

“Yes unfortunately I am,” Gendry replied. 

Arya’s heart bounced in her chest. 

“Why is it unfortunate?” Renly baited, “Loras tells me that the Lady Sansa is a beauty and sweet as sugar to boot.” 

Arya leant further forward, wanting to hear Gendry’s answer. 

He was quiet for a beat. 

“She is,” he said smoothly before clarifying, “She is beautiful that is but…” 

Gendry was quiet once more. 

“Her younger sister is quite the beauty as well,” Renly soon ventured to say, “although not to be offensive, it does not seem quite apt to describe Lady Arya as sweet…” 

Gendry snorted. 

“No she certainly isn’t sweet,” Gendry agreed, “But she is…” 

He paused and Arya pressed her ear flat against the door. 

“Something,” he finished, “she’s something…”

Arya felt the corners of her mouth lift without permission.

“Are you considering talking to your father about breaking your betrothal then?” Renly asked, with a cocked eyebrow. 

Arya’s stomach dropped. She could do that to her sister… she couldn’t…

“I never wanted to marry Lady Sansa in the first place,” Gendry replied, not really answering Renly’s question. 

“That is not an answer, or at least not an answer to the question that I asked you.” 

“It’s the only one I am giving you now, Uncle.” 

“Then you’re considering it,” Renly said without missing a beat.

“Of course I bloody am,” Gendry said through gritted teeth.

Renly paused, Arya saw him taking a sip from his goblet, slowly swilling it around in his mouth before swallowing it. 

“Good,” he said shortly. 

“Good?” Gendry prompted with a raised eyebrow. 

Renly sighed. 

“I don’t want my nephew, any of them really, to have a marriage as miserable as his parents,” Renly said decisively, “If Arya Stark could make you happy then...” 

Renly made a hand gesture. They were silent for a second. 

“But…” Renly began again. 

“She doesn’t want to be Queen,” Gendry blurted out, interrupting him. 

Renly nodded, swilling his drink again. 

“You read my very thought nephew,” Renly said with a firm nod.

“I can’t make her miserable at the cost of my own happiness,” Gendry murmured, “I won’t be as selfish as my parents have been.” 

Arya felt her entire being flood with relief. She was under no illusions that if Gendry went to his father and fought to marry her, she would end up a Queen. Even her father’s honour could not refuse a King’s demands. Lord Dayne would be made to graciously give her hand up to the Crown Prince and Arya would be married within a moon’s cycle, a princess trapped at King’s Landing for the rest of her days. She didn’t want that. She never would. She couldn’t have the man without the kingdom. They were one and the same and they always would be. 

Their voices continued to murmur and mumble but Arya wasn’t listening any longer. She was trapped in her own thoughts, different things floating in and out of her mind as she stood at the door to Gendry’s chambers.

Footsteps moved toward her and Arya scrambled to move out from behind the door, pressing herself into the darkness, hoping to blend in. 

Renly walked past her without a glance in her direction, not noticing her at all. Arya stared at the crack of light in the doorway until she could no longer hear Renly’s footsteps padding down the corridor. 

Before Arya could even second guess herself she was pushing the heavy door open and slipping into Gendry’s chambers. 

His chambers were huge, which was no surprise to her but what was surprising were the small touches around the room that where uniquely Gendry. Like the small pair of gauntlets above the table that Arya knew he would have made or the large sack of books gathering dust next to bed, probably there from his last visit and the large warhammer above the bed. Arya’s eyes narrowed on it very quickly. 

Robert Baratheon’s warhammer from the Battle of Trident she’d wager. 

Gendry was facing away from her, pulling his shirt loose before pulling it over his head. It was then Arya thought it apt to alert him to her presence. 

“Is that your father’s warhammer?” she asked curiously. 

Gendry didn’t even react. There was no jump or startled movement. He only looked up so that they were both looking at the hammer. 

“Yes, the very once that he smashed the Last Dragon King’s head in with,” Gendry with an undecipherable sigh before asking her, “What are you doing in here Arya?” 

Arya moved forward, clambering onto Gendry’s bed, her hands reaching up to trace the weapon. It was responsible for ending so much destruction with one simple swing. 

“I was wandering around the castle and saw the light coming from your chambers,” Arya lied before a mocking tone crept into her voice with an edge of haughtiness in it, “You really should not be half naked in the presence of a lady? What kind of Prince are you?” 

The Prince turned around, his eyes alight with mischief as he looked at her, still without a shirt. 

“Really? You decided to intrude on the privacy of my room? What kind of lady are you?” he teased, “anything you see in here that offends your oh so delicate sensibilities is your own fault.” 

Arya laughed warmly. 

In truth, she had seen too many men shirtless to be much effected by the indecency of it by now but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a shakiness in her stomach at the fact that is was Gendry’s naked top half, sculpted like an Adonis, that she was seeing. 

However she had no such plan to betray even a hint of shakiness to Gendry. 

“Oh I assure you, it would take a lot more than your body to offend me,” she said airily, maintaining contact with his eyes. 

“I am glad to hear so my lady,” Gendry said seriously, “Although I don’t think that my body is in the least offensive.” 

Arya rolled her eyes at him before rolling back so that she was now sitting on Gendry’s bed, evaluating him. 

“Sometimes I wish I were a man,” she announced rather suddenly. 

“You do, do you?” Gendry said, raising an eyebrow that silently asked her why. 

“Yes I do,” she said decisively, “You have such freedoms. Freedoms that I will never enjoy. You can take your shirt off and not be stoned to death for it. I could never do that…” 

“Well you are very welcome to try in the privacy of my chambers,” Gendry quipped, reverting to that man she had first met for a matter of seconds. 

Arya laughed, rolling her eyes at him. 

“Is this always your room?” Arya asked before clarifying, “When you come here?” 

Gendry nodded, moving forward to rest on the bed, slumping down next to her. 

“Yes. These were my father’s chambers when he was a boy.”

Arya looked around, her eyes searching the rooms. 

“You’re staying in the chambers your father stayed in when he came to visit at Storm’s End after our fathers were fostered by Jon Arryn at the Vale,” he added. 

Arya smiled. She was always glad to be close to her father, no matter how remote the connection was. 

“Where were you fostered… were you fostered at all?” Arya asked suddenly. 

Gendry looked at her for a second before shaking his head. 

“My mother didn’t want me to leave King’s Landing,” he said indifferently, “Said that Uncle Jaime could teach me all I needed to know with a sword.” 

“You were taught by the Kingslayer,” Arya said coldly. 

Gendry barely reacted to her words, shrugging. 

“Yes Uncle Jaime taught me most of what I know with a sword, I was his squire when I was fourteen,” he said carelessly. 

“I often forget you are half a Lannister,” Arya murmured, “It’s not a mistake I make with your brothers and sister but with you…”

Gendry grinned as she trailed off. 

“My siblings have the Lannister look, I take solely after my father it seems,” he said. 

Arya nodded before trailing off again. They sunk into a comfortable silence. 

“Did your father ever tell you about the war, his coming to the throne, Lyanna?” Arya asked suddenly.

Gendry’s eyes flickered over to meet hers. It was a questioning gaze. 

“You once said to me back at Winterfell that my aunt was a tender blight so to speak for the kingdom,” Arya said with a frown, “Do you know much about her?” 

Gendry took his gaze off her for a second, shrugging indifferently. 

“Only the bits and pieces I have picked up over the years,” Gendry said, “My father seems to like re-living his days as a conqueror of the throne much more than he does ruling it. Talking about Lady Lyanna naturally comes with that, albeit in small doses.” 

Arya frowned. 

“I mean he does talk about her, or moan more like,” Gendry quickly amended, “How he loved her, how they were meant to marry. All of that but he doesn’t talk a lot about her, what she was like. No I may have heard how my father smashed in Rhaegar Targeryen’s head in with a Warhammer a thousand times over but I have not much heard about your Aunt.” 

Gendry looked at her with curiosity. 

“Why do you ask?” he inquired. 

Arya shrugged. 

“Tonight at dinner with your uncle is about the most I have ever heard of her,” Arya said indifferently, “I guess I am just curious. Everyone says she is so much like me yet they do supply how they come to those conclusions.” 

Arya sighed with another shrug. 

“I suppose I just thought that perhaps I should know something about the woman who I am so often compared to.” 

 

“If you want to know details about her, the best person to ask is your father,” Gendry pointed out wisely. 

Arya shook her head. 

“I would never. In spite of the years, it seems too painful for him to talk about her still.” 

Gendry shrugged. 

“Well I don’t know much about her,” Gendry said, “She started an uprising, that turned into a civil war and perhaps without her, my parent’s marriage might have been different…”

Arya snorted at that. 

“Even without my aunt, your parent’ marriage was never going to be one of love and peace,” Arya said. 

Gendry let out a laugh, nodding his head in agreement.

“I know that my parents were never going to be the loving set that you have been blessed with but perhaps…” 

There was wistfulness in Gendry’s voice, an undertone of something Arya’s thought to be hope. It made her turn to her side to face him as he paused. She lay on her side, her head propped up by only the arch of a sleepy elbow as she regarded him. 

“Perhaps…” Arya prompted. 

“Perhaps then my mother wouldn’t regard me as she does,” he said with tones of a hurt child, a lost little boy rejected by his mother, “With such contempt and disregard. Like I am Robert Baratheon, her rejecter, her abuser and her downfall, instead of Gendry Baratheon, her eldest son.” 

Arya felt pity flood through her. She would never know what it felt like to be unloved. Her own family loved her unconditionally and she knew it.

“You really should be getting back to your room, Arya,” Gendry said suddenly, “As much as I enjoy your company, it looks bad if you are seen in my chambers.” 

“Oh please my maidenhead is in no more danger here on your bed than it was on the road,” Arya said scornfully, “You do not need a feather bed for fucking.” 

Gendry nodded his head in agreement but still he got up, holding a hand to help her up. 

“Perhaps,” he said in agreement, as she ignored his hand, getting up herself, “But featherbed’s are usually accompanied by maids who come along and whisper about you being there. Although I must say that my uncle carefully picks his staff and they are exceptionally trustworthy.” 

“Do you have some experience in maids whispering about you?” Arya said, facing him with a smirk. 

“Don’t we all?” Gendry teased with a smile. 

Arya rolled her eyes before going to the door. 

“Sorry to disappoint your highness but I have never had a maid gossiping about me,” Arya said with a mocking bow, “I am beyond reproach.” 

“I’m sure no one ever talked about the little girl who ran around in her brother’s breeches,” Gendry said dryly.

Arya laughed, nodding. 

“Perhaps I am not truly beyond reproach.” 

“Oh I don’t know, I rather like you in breeches,” Gendry said kindly.

Arya smiled, rolling her eyes but her mind darted back to the conversation she had heard just ten minutes earlier. He must more than like her if he had thought about throwing Sansa aside in favour of Arya and her breeched bottoms…

No, Arya thought refusing to give more than a second thought to that. 

“Do you know how to get back to your chambers from here?” Gendry asked. 

Arya awoke from her thoughts before looking up at him. 

“I think so,” she said, thinking back to the winding path of halls that she taken to get here. 

“Let me get my shirt and I’ll walk you back there,” Gendry said, walking back over to his bed, “Storm’s End can be confusing at the best of times, but more so at night.” 

Arya rolled her eyes but still waited for him.

The hallways seemed warmer as they crept back along them. Gendry led her down corridors with twists and turns that she could have sworn she hadn’t been down on her wanderings away from her room. 

They were mostly silent as they walked, both lost in their own thoughts. Arya could not tell what Gendry’s thoughts entailed but he seemed intent. His face was slightly scrunched up, he was deep in thought.

“Can I ask you a question?” Arya said suddenly. 

Gendry broke out of his inner musings, nodding as he looked to her attentively. 

“Why are you doing this? Why did you bring me here?”

Gendry was quiet for a second. 

“I don’t know, I mean don’t think it was a wholly selfless act, I wanted to visit Storm’s End as well…” 

Arya snorted. 

“…but it was also… I think it was because I saw in your eyes the same look that’s always in mine,” Gendry said in an unsure voice, “Someone trapped and wanting some freedom.” 

Their eyes met and Arya felt a ripple of happiness at his answer. 

“Storm’s End seemed like a good idea at the time and you were happy to come with me. Perhaps its not proper but…” 

“But I have never really cared for propriety, have I?” Arya finished for him. 

Gendry grinned, before gesturing to a familiar door. 

“And here is your room. We will go riding tomorrow if you want to?” 

Arya nodded eagerly, throwing her arms around Gendry for a brief moment and squeezing. 

“I would love that,” she said, “Thank you for not making me go back to that vipers pit. I do hate it there…” 

They stayed together like that for a second, Gendry slowly wrapping his arms around her waist. 

Then she let go before rushing into her chambers, feeling stupid yet happy that someone was looking out for what she wanted, rather than what they wanted for her. 

-

Storm’s End was hotter than freshly roasted suckling pig or at least it was to Arya. When she rode with Gendry there no cold wind striking her face, no snow to leave a trial of hoof prints in. When she sat with Renly in the afternoon, discussing whatever they did, there was no way to sit comfortably, letting the heated walls warm her. Instead the humidity of the sun seemed to heat her from the inside, sweat pouring out of her all the time. At one point, her snowy skin was so hot that she voluntarily changed into one of the impractical silk dresses that Renly offered her. It allowed her to endure the heat much better. 

Gendry’s skin, on the other hand, seemed to be made for this sort of weather. After only a day in the saddle, under the sun of the Stormlands, his skin seemed to glow golden and his smile become happier than it had been in King’s Landing.

“I always wanted to be the heir to Storm’s End when I was a child,” Gendry confided in her as they rode one day, slowing their horses to a prance. 

“Instead you’re the Crown Prince,” Arya said, tilting her head to the side and quirking her brows. 

“I am,” Gendry allowed with a smile, “But King’s Landing is a constrictive nest of vipers while Storm’s End was always a breath of fresh air for me. I spent some of my best days here…” 

“You have become an old man before my eyes,” Arya teased, interrupting him before gesturing for him to continue. 

“I have spent my best days here with friends and Cella and Tommen, even my father came here once or twice, he was better here, alive and…” 

“Robert Baratheon more alive?” Arya quipped. 

Gendry laughed, nodding. 

“What about your mother?” Arya asked curiously, “Did she ever come to Storm’s End?” 

Gendry shook his head. 

“No, Mother never came.” 

Arya narrowed her eyes slightly but didn’t say anything. 

“I’ll race you back to the castle,” she blurted out. 

Gendry looked at her, his eyes bright as he nodded.

“You’re on,” he said before racing on ahead of her. 

Arya laughed and followed. 

\- 

Watching Gendry jumping of his horse before helping Lady Arya of hers, laughing so loudly that Renly could hear them from his study above the courtyard was like watching ghosts. Two very specific, very familiar ghosts. 

Renly was weary. He couldn’t help but dread the possibility of history repeating itself to an extent. It had cost too many people too much the first time around. 

He cared deeply for his nephew. Gendry was a good nephew, a good son, good man and some day he would be a great king but today he was wary for him. Renly could see what was going to happen as soon as he rode through the gates of Storm’s End with no routine and Lyanna’s Stark ghost riding by his side. 

Why else would he bring Lady Arya? He must be in love with her. Gendry was doomed to repeat his father’s mistakes. At least there was no Targaryen to swoop in, only a sister to be tossed aside. 

“What is it? The Prince?” a voice asked. 

Renly turned, looking away from his nephew and Lady Arya, to look at his lover, strewn across the couch invitingly. He nodded. 

“I must dress then,” Loras said, “Wouldn’t do if I didn’t greet his highness immediately.” 

Renly rolled his eyes. 

“You just think Gendry’s handsome,” he said crossly. 

Loras laughed. 

“Of course, my love, he looks like you. You should be flattered,” Loras replied smoothly. 

Again Renly rolled his eyes. 

“He brought Lady Arya Stark,” Renly said, changing the subject of their chatter, “Perhaps you know her from court.” 

Loras’ eyes narrowed in thought. 

“Ah I have met Lady Sansa. Actually I believe that Margaery has become quite friendly with her, Lady Sansa, but I only know of Lady Arya, I have never met with her or any of the other Starks for that matter, at least to the best of my memory,” Loras replied. 

“Well you will at dinner,” Renly said, taking a seat at his desk before pulling a piece of correspondence toward him, reaching for some ink. 

Loras was silent for a moment before beginning to speak, careful as he watched Renly write. 

“Lady Arya?” he asked, “It is strange that he should bring his betrothed’s sister to Storm’s End.” 

“Hmm not so strange,” Renly said, not wanting to play Loras’ little game, “Perhaps he just wanted to know his future good-sister better.” 

“Or perhaps he wants to fuck her without his soon to be Lady wife present,” Loras said dryly dropping all pretences and slyness in his search for information, “He wouldn’t be the first Baratheon to fuck his good-sister.” 

Renly barely looked up from what he was carefully writing. 

“Delena Florent was not Robert’s good-sister. She was Stannis’,” Renly said dismissively. 

“Semantics.” 

Renly shrugged. 

“Regardless, he had brought Lady Arya with him and we will…” 

“You,” Loras corrected, “will allow them to either start or continue their affair under your roof.” 

Renly looked at him in consideration before nodding with a glum look. 

“Well, well, this is a house of ill repute,” Loras said, wriggling his eyebrows, “So much forbidden love in one castle…” 

Renly snorted before finishing his letter for King’s Landing. 

\- 

“Lady Arya, I have had the pleasure of meeting your sister, Lady Sansa. She is truly a jewel of the North,” Loras said as they dined later that night. 

The room seemed to become silent quickly. No one had mentioned Sansa since they had arrived and the sudden reminder of her existence did not make Arya feel well, in fact suddenly her stomach seemed to chew itself up with knots. 

However Arya quickly recovered, looking at Loras directly with only a slight insinuation of annoyance in her grey eyes. 

“I am very glad you liked my sister,” she said with a fond smile, “I remember her talking of the knight of flowers and her admiration for his dashing persona. I do hope that you would live up to her assessment…” 

Loras smiled in cold gratitude, his eyes narrowing on Arya. 

“And Lady Sansa did not want to accompany you for your surprising visit to the Stormlands?” he asked innocently.

Renly slammed his goblet down in warning but Loras seemed to pay little attention, his eyes not moving from where they were fixated on Arya. 

Arya took a sip of her wine, recognising Loras’ words as the challenge that they were. However before she could say another word, she was interrupted. 

“Lady Sansa was not much inclined to spend time at the Stormlands at present,” Gendry said easily, before piercing Loras with a glare that promised something Arya couldn’t quite grasp, “May I inquire what your own reason for gracing my uncle with your presence is?”

Loaded silence erupted once more in the room. Gendry seemed to be the only one to be completely unaffected by it. He swilled his goblet around, even the crimson liquid moved back and forth with trepidation. 

“I feel that whenever I come to the Stormlands, you are always here, Lord Tyrell.” 

Renly froze and Loras’ eyes narrowed while Gendry merely sat, eyebrow quirked as he waited for their answer, knowing that admitting to what they were really doing was treason. 

After a moment of brooding silence, Loras raised his glass in salute. 

“Well played, your highness.”

The proceeding meal was awkward but Arya got through it with enough conversation to ensure that she wasn’t the one making it awkward. 

Arya followed Gendry out of the dining hall when they finished, watching him strut with triumph. 

“That was… interesting,” she said. 

Gendry shrugged, frowning solemnly. 

“His nosiness needed to be put in its place,” Gendry said. 

Arya sighed. 

“He only said what everyone else is thinking,” she said flippantly. 

Again Gendry shrugged. 

“I don’t care, we aren’t being improper, Renly is a chaperon,” he said carefully, “Why? Do you care? You have never cared about propriety before…” 

Arya didn’t say anything for a minute, the silence between them filling with her thoughts. 

“I don’t want to hurt my sister, Gendry,” she said quietly. 

Gendry glanced down at her for a second before looking away, guilt in his air. 

“You won’t.” 

I don’t know that’s true, she thought. 

\- 

The next few days brought a raven from King’s Landing and a surprise visitor. One brought disenchantment while the other brought joy. 

The raven was from her father and enclosed within it was a small note for Gendry and a longer letter for her. 

Arya had ripped her letter out of Gendry’s hands when he had passed it to her over the breakfast table, glaring at him before opening it with nervous fingers. 

Disappointment was wafting from the letter like heated shit. Her father’s disappointment was a heavy burden to bear for any of his children but Arya felt that she felt it more keenly than the others. She was his child of winter, a Northerner to her chilled bones, like her father, like all the Starks. Where Sansa and their brothers reeked of their mother’s summery influence, Arya was all harsh winter winds and snow. 

Jon was the same but he wasn’t a Stark as he so often reminded her. 

Her father’s letter was a reprimand. He chastised her for running away, for putting herself in danger by running away into a land that she didn’t know or understand. However that was only the first paragraph. The second brought tears to her eyes. 

I am sorry Arya. Sorry for betraying the trust you put in me by organising a betrothal without your explicit consent. It was wrong and I am sorry, little wolf. Please forgive me… 

He was too good her father, too good and too kind, too loving and too gracious. Arya immediately regrated being so awful to him before she left, even though at the time it had felt warranted with her impending betrothal to Lord Dayne.

Arya felt a burst of happiness, her dazzling smile lighting up her face as her eyes found Gendry’s who was breaking his fast. Her father’s forgiveness and being back in his good graces meant a lot more to her than she could ever hope to say. 

“I gather then that Lord Stark was not unreasonable,” Gendry commented with a smirk. 

“No he was not,” Arya said with a bounce in her voice, “ I doubt he will have forgiven me completely but his letter was also apologetic and understanding. One of the things I most love about my father is that he always makes an effort to understand why people do the things that they do.” 

Gendry nodded at her.

“What did he send you?” Arya asked curiously, her eyes flicking down to the crumpled note Gendry had set aside. 

Gendry’s face curiously darkened a fraction but he still met her gaze evenly. 

“Just a thanks for finding his daughter.”

Arya nodded, finding that she didn’t quite believe him but also not really care at this point why he was lying. She was just happy with her father’s letter. 

Their visitor was another matter. 

To everyone’s surprise, and Gendry’s joy, Edric Storm rode through the gates of Storm’s End a few days after Gendry and Arya’s own arrival. 

He was tall, dark haired and blue eyed, looking remarkably like Gendry. He was slighter and his ear stuck out but otherwise Arya had never seen two people look so alike, three when Renly was added into the bunch. He looked much more like Gendry than any of his legitimate siblings did. It was incredible.

Gendry had been practicing his archery skills while Arya stood behind him, criticising everything from his form to his footwork to the way he brought the string back, when he had dropped his bow and let out of a roar of elation. 

“Ed…” he called, holding his arms out wide in a sign of ecstatic welcoming, “Bloody Edric.” 

Edric smiled, hopping off his horse and near running to greet his brother. 

“Your highness,” he said with a teasing smirk. 

Gendry rolled his eyes before the two enveloped each other in a brotherly embrace. 

“None of that horseshit, you know how much it bothers me,” Gendry reprimanded, “How are you, brother? Why are you at Storm’s End? Our Uncle told me you were visiting your mother and her family in the Reach?” 

Edric nodded. 

“I was,” he replied, “But too much time with my mother’s husband…” 

He made a hapless gesture of weariness.

“Well you are welcome here at Storm’s End, that’s for sure, Renly will be delighted you are back. He has been telling me a great many things about your progress with a sword,” Gendry assured him. 

Edric dipped his head in agreement, his too big ears that stuck out like wings bobbing along with his head. 

The twack of Arya’s arrow onto the target awoke them from their greetings. She had hit the arrow into the dead centre of the target. Arya let a pleased smirk onto her lips. She was as good as she had been at nine years old when she had beaten Bran. 

“Ed, allow me to introduce you to my companion,” Gendry invited, walking Edric over to the practice fields, gesturing for the squires to take his horse and baggage, “This is Arya Stark, evidently the archer of Winterfell.” 

Arya rolled her eyes but smiled good-humouredly at Edric in greeting.

“Lady Arya,” he said, bowing to her. 

“Don’t call me that please, my name is Arya, use it.” 

The boy smiled, nodding shyly in such a familiar way it startled Arya. His movements were shy he gazed upon her. They mimicked Jon’s in a way, there was a sense of unease in his movements especially as he addressed Arya.

Bastards, they don’t change across Westeros, Arya thought dryly.

“In all seriousness, please call me Arya,” she repeated, reinforcing her words. 

Edric nodded again a more comfortable smile adorning his lips. 

“So do you arch?” 

With that their day went on. All three of them trained in the yards for a while until Arya wandered off, leaving the brothers to themselves. She knew how much she loved Jon, how often she wanted to spend time with just him. She was prepared to give that same courtesy to Gendry even if it meant she would be bored out of her brains. 

She found herself in the library, a rare place for Arya to ever find herself. She was more of a person to do things, run and jump, fight and forge, rather than a deep thinker, a reader of old books that bespoke of the finer art of further expanding the mind. 

Arya fingered the spine of a book. 

“Do you not enjoy reading Lady Arya?” 

Arya almost jumped, her hand going straight to the dagger at her waist. However as soon as her eyes alighted on Renly’s dark head, she relaxed. 

“It depends what the book is,” she responded, “I only ever enjoyed reading the tales of the Targaryen Queens as a child, Nymeria and Visenya and the like.” 

Renly nodded, his eyes lightening as he assessed her reply internally. 

“I should have known, you aspire to their standards I assume,” he commented. 

Arya nodded before laughing. 

“All except for Queenship,” she said, “That is one aspect of their lives that does not entice me.” 

Within a moment, Renly’s entire demeanour grew stiffer, more interested as he leant forward what seemed like barely a mille-inch. 

“Being a queen does not entice you?” he said coolly, “You must be the only girl in all seven kingdoms to hold such a view.” 

“Perhaps,” Arya agreed with a shrug. 

Renly narrowed his eyes, as they once again examined her. He moved carefully as he placed a piece of cloth between the pages of his book, before carefully placing it on the table beside him. He then once again pierced her with his evaluating stare. 

“Forgive my frankness, Lady Arya…” 

“I prefer frankness,” Arya interrupted with a smile, “And please, call me Arya.” 

“Arya then,” Renly said with an approving look, “You must certainly know what this all means. My nephew…” 

Renly paused in consideration before continuing. 

“My nephew and you seem to get along very well,” he said, “And not to be overzealous but I think he would marry in a second, given a choice between you and your sister, Lady Sansa.” 

Arya raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head.

“He won’t do that,” she said.

“Perhaps he will not, but he would want to,” Renly said. 

“Gendry knows I don’t want to be Queen…” 

“So you want him to marry your sister?” 

Something ugly twisted in Arya’s gut and she didn’t have to say a thing about her thoughts on that topic as Renly nodded sagely in understanding. 

“Regardless of whether you marry my nephew, I doubt he will marry your sister at this point,” Renly said gently, “He’s too in love with you…” 

Arya choked on air. 

“He’s not in love with me…” she gasped out, once she had recovered to some extent, “That’s just … stupid.” 

Renly just continued to look at her, his eyes running over her as he continued to evaluate her.

“He isn’t…” Arya repeated with less certaintly. 

Her words had come out as more of a question than a statement. 

For the first time in their little trip, she felt unsure of her footing. She had questioned why Gendry had brought her here, but she had thought his reasoning was that he was kind and understanding… not that he was in love with her. Why he was so kind to her? She hadn’t even thought there was the slightest possibility that he was in love with her. He couldn’t be, could he? 

Anxiety rolled around in Arya’s stomach but Renly once more spoke, forcing her to put it aside.

“You know your aunt underestimated how in love my brother was with her too,” Renly said, “Lady Lyanna thought him only to be love with her beauty, with the idea of her, but he started a war to get her back from the dragonspawn that stole her.” 

“That has no relation to Gendry and I,” Arya said firmly. 

“Perhaps not directly but it gives you an idea of how Gendry was taught to love. How he will love you given the opportunity,” Renly clarified, “A man’s first role model is his father. They don’t tend to stray too much from that first example of what a man is…”

Arya frowned. 

“Learn from history, do not repeat the mistakes of those who came before you,” Renly warned. 

Arya’s frown deepened, a lump forming in her throat. 

“If I were you, Lady Arya, I would be careful,” Renly said so gently it felt like a knife pressing against her throat, cautiously allowing their victim to feel the pain but not let it end them, “At this stage of the game, it’s no longer only yourself that your actions would hurt.” 

\- 

“So Lady Arya, how did you learn to arch so well?” Edric asked as they sipped soup at Renly’s table that night. 

Arya shrugged carelessly. 

“As a child, I was always trailing after my brothers,” she replied dully, “Jon and Theon, Lord Greyjoy’s youngest son who fostered at Winterfell, taught me.”

Edric nodded in interest. 

“How… unconventional,” Loras drawled, looking at her somewhat appreciatively. 

“What else did you expect?” Gendry said with an amused, quirked eyebrow, “Arya’s is hardly conventional.” 

Arya smiled, nodding at them all quite generally, but her eyes avoided meeting Gendry’s teasing gaze. She had been avoiding him all day.

She couldn’t even look him in the eyes since her talk with Renly in the library. 

“Are you skilled at other forms of fighting?” Edric asked her, seeming quite unaware of the tension in the room. 

She nodded distractedly. 

“I trained under a Braavossi sword master in water dancing,” she said, “That’s the extent of my formal training.” 

Edric looked quite incredulous. 

“A Braavossi…” he said with stark wonder in his voice. 

“Yes,” Arya said with a genuine smile, her first of the day, “My father was irritated by my constant pleading to train with Jon and Robb, my elder brothers. One day I followed them out into the courtyard, practicing with a young boy out there. I was hurt, a very minor injury that everyone knew it was my own fault but nonetheless a couple of weeks later I left my room and found a Braavossi sword master named Syrio Forel in the dining hall waiting for me.” 

Arya smiled, shrugging at Edric slightly. 

“Father had decided that if I was so insistent on learning, I should learn an art that would suit me and my small stature.”

“Braavossi water dancing,” Edric said in awe, “Perhaps you would be able to demonstrate some of the techniques, if you have time to, before you go back to King’s Landing.” 

Arya nodded, another real smile emerging at Edric’s interest. She loved any hint of interest from another person.

“I am sure we could do that sometime in the next few days,” she replied.

“When are you planning on returning to the Capital if you do not mind me inquiring, your highness?” Loras broke in. 

Arya could feel Gendry’s eyes turn to look at her but she refused to look up and meet them. Instead she busied herself with eating, using pristine table manners taught to her for the first time in her life. Her mother would have been so proud.

“I am not sure yet,” Gendry said, stuttering unsurely, “We will stay however long my uncle’s good grace allows us…”

“You are welcome to stay however long you like, nephew,” Renly interrupted with a good-natured smile, “You know that.” 

Gendry smiled gratefully in reply. 

“Well we will probably depart before the end of the sennight. My responsibilities in King’s Landing can wait, but not for too long. Arya’s family will also be keen to have her back I think.”

Two weeks. Gendry’s words gave her two weeks of freedom. He was giving her two weeks. Arya knew it. They could go back earlier or later, it was up to her.

She had never been given that sort of freedom before. The idea of it was almost intoxicating. 

 

Arya looked up at him, keeping ahold of his eyes for the first time all day. Arya nodded her thanks, a smile lighting her face up. 

Gendry escorted her back to her chambers that night after their late dinner and Arya watched him closely as they walked. Watched the way he moved next to her. Felt how close he was to her. Wondered if it by accident that his arm brushed hers so often, the verist brush against her provoking such fluttering all over her. 

She wondered about Renly’s comments this afternoon as she observed Gendry carefully. Was he in love with her? No surely not… she really couldn’t be certain of his feelings either way but she hoped he was not. 

She hoped that Renly was as stupid as Loras was, that he had no idea of Gendry’s feelings. Arya would not hurt her sister like that. Sansa did not deserve that, no one did. Gendry wasn’t in love with her, just like Arya wasn’t in love with him. 

These thought preoccupied Arya’s mind well into the night until she made the conscious decision to ignore Renly’s remarks, her own stupid thoughts and feelings and make sure Gendry was acutely aware of his place in Sansa’s future. 

Arya fell asleep discontent but determined. 

And so the next few days Arya did just as she had decided that night. When they walked through the Godswood, Arya pointed out flowers that Sansa would like. When Gendry talked about a place at Storm’s End, he used to go as a child, Arya suggested he take Sansa there when they were married. They even climbed a tree, to which Arya promptly suggested that maybe Sansa and his children would one day roam. 

Her entire performance felt awkward and unnatural and Gendry didn’t seem to say anything in return to her inferences. 

Over those few days, Gendry barely responded to her thinly veiled innuendoes, so Arya slowly toned it down. Instead she let herself enjoy herself. She ran, she swam, she jumped. She let herself forget all that was waiting for her back at King’s Landing. She forget her father, Lord Dayne, Sansa… she just let herself be. 

-

Gendry took Arya to the cliffs only at her request. They asked Edric to come with them but Renly was keeping him entertained with lessons so they went alone. 

“Arya come down now. Your father would never forgive me if you took a fall,” Gendry called out. 

Arya laughed, continuing her careful tread over the sharp rocks of Shipbreakers Bay. She had been begging him since their arrival to walk amongst the cliffs but it hadn’t been until she had threatened to go alone that he had actually consented to taking her. 

A decision he surely regretted now as she walked along the dangerously jagged rocks, paying too little attention to where her feet moved. However if Arya fell, she had no one but herself to blame. Gendry had made her promise not to do something like this. 

“Arya, come down,” he roared once more, feeling as though his voice was battling against the roar of the swirling winds and the waves that crashed against Shipbreakers Bay, “Now.” 

Arya rolled her eyes. 

“Why do you not come up here?” she yelled in return, her voice faint but insistent. 

Gendry must have heard her as soon he was pushing his way up the rocks more easily than Arya could ever hope to do. 

He had told her that he had played on these cliffs as a child, just like the sandy dunes of the bay and the intricate tunnels under Storm’s End. 

She had gotten so used to his steady presence in their time in the Stormlands, relishing in his company. 

“You have to be careful, many before you have fallen to their deaths on these rocks,” his voice spoke from behind her. 

Arya laughed. 

“Then it wasn’t particularly smart of a Crown Prince to come up here, was it stupid?” she teased, “If I die it’s a sad and unfortunate event, if you die, the Crown goes to your sick minded little brother.” 

Gendry thought for a second before laughing. 

“I would tell you that I am happy to risk it but the thought of a world where Joffrey is King would be a twisted one.” 

Arya huffed; smacking him on the arm and making them both shuffle slightly as she had disrupted their balance.

“Careful,” he said softly, grabbing her arm to steady her, “And your death wouldn’t be sad and unfortunate. It would be debilitating for many…” 

Arya sucked in a deep breath, not saying a thing. The way he said the word many made her feel like it could be substituted for just him. Stupid Renly, he had been putting things into her head. For the most part she had been able to put what he had said out of her mind but there were little instances where it all came rushing back when he said something, did something so sweet that she found herself believing Renly’s statements just a little bit more. 

However the worse thing was that sometimes it all came back to her when she found comfort in watching him or thought about how blue his eyes were, how they held his entire heart in them. 

How Arya could now see her place in that heart. 

However did he have a place in hers? Of that, Arya was still trying to ascertain. She certainly felt something, that much she was certain of but the depth of any such feelings she wasn’t sure. She was a young women, inexperienced in the ways of love. How was she supposed to know if she was deeply in love with the man in front of her? 

Arya’s heart sang something but she ignored it as she noticed Gendry staring at her unsurely, almost as if he were confused. 

Arya snapped out of her thoughts and back into reality. 

“Come on then. You’re right, we should get down,” Arya said. 

Gendry gaped, a dark eyebrow raising itself involuntarily in surprise.

“I don’t think I have ever heard you say that I was right. You do know that the implication in admitting I am right is that you are wrong?” 

“Shut up stupid.” 

Gendry laughed, his laugh full and unrestrained before a crack of lightning whipped over them, also loud and unrestrained. 

“We probably should go,” he agreed, “Looks like a storm’s coming in, a mighty one too. You will see a true Storm’s End storm before much longer. They are fierce and we are already late. I told Renly we would be back earlier.”

Arya smiled. It was rather ironic that only days after they had lied to their parents about a freak storm keeping them at Storm’s End that there actually was a huge storm. 

They both rode back quickly yet within moments of them hopping on their horses, rain was pouring down, soaking both of them to the bone. Thankfully the horses were trained to handle the harsh rain of the Stormlands and within twenty minutes their hooves were trotting over the cobbled stones of the castle courtyard. 

The stables were surprisingly empty. It was quiet, silent except for the pitter-patter of rain on the roof. Arya was unused to such silence. Even the horses seemed slightly unsettled by it.

Arya raised an eyebrow at Gendry as she began to unbuckle the saddle on her horse, deciding to brush it down herself. 

Gendry shrugged. 

“The gathering storm must be bigger than we thought. Renly allows the outside attendants, or anyone who doesn’t really live in the castle, to go home if there is the potential for a big storm.” 

Arya nodded as she listened, smiling at the thought of a big storm. Rain thundered down on the roof of the stables harder. Arya’s eyes flashed up to Gendry’s noting his deep frown of concern. 

“Quickly, lets go…” 

Arya nodded and together they ran from the stables to the entrance of the castle. 

The hallways of Storm’s End were surprisingly empty as well. 

“It’s oddly quiet around here,” Arya ventured to say. 

“I wasn’t exaggerating when I said we were late,” Gendry said rather dryly. 

Arya hummed in agreement while they rounded the corner into the dining hall. Arya listened for any noise but didn’t hear even a sigh or a peep of noise. All she could hear was the rain and thunder. 

“Where is everyone?” Arya asked curiously. 

Gendry shrugged, a small crease forming in between his eyebrows. 

“I don’t know, I will check Renly’s chambers.” 

With that he took off, walking briskly with Arya scurrying behind him. Arya had never been to the lord’s chambers. Gendry and her chambers occupied the east wing of the castle while the lord’s chambers in Storm’s End’s sole tower. It seemed that they were climbing stairs for an age before they finally reached Renly’s chambers. However there was not a soul inside them. 

Gendry hummed in dissatisfaction. 

“I don’t know,” he said again, another resounding crack of thunder jolting them both.

“Is there somewhere people go when there is a particularly bad storm?” Arya suggested. 

Gendry shook his head. 

“No apparently there is magic woven into the foundations of the castle. It seems to work, as the castle has never fallen even in the worst of storms. It has always been very secure.”

Arya nodded. She had heard the stories of Elenei and Durran, her childhood had been filled with the tales of the witch who built Storm’s End. 

“While we are up here, come in here to the balcony,” Gendry invited, gesturing vaguely behind him, “When I was a boy, I used to sneak up here during storms. You can see the lightning for miles, it’s rather beautiful in a violent way…” 

Gendry paused for a second, a teasing smile coming over his lips as he cocked his head down at her. 

“Kind of like you actually…” 

Arya rolled her eyes instantly reaching over to smack him. 

Gendry barely jolted but his eyes danced in amusement. 

“See just like that. Violent…” 

Arya rolled her eyes.

The room Gendry bought her into was huge, made bigger by most of the walls being entirely made of windows. It seems almost like a strategy room with just a large wooden table in it, surrounding by wooden chairs, one at the head of the table looking significantly larger than the rest. 

“This is the highest point of the castle,” Gendry said in a tone full of pride, “It was from here that the Storm Kings of old would strategize and watch for the enemy. That why the walls are made of glass, so they could see every angle of their surroundings for impending attacks.”

Arya nodded in curiosity, her eyes wandering as her feet began to move around the room with keen interest. 

Lightning crackled in the eastern sky, illuminating the sky in a spectacular show of white light. Arya moved closer to the window, utterly mesmerised by the entire spectacle. She had never seen lightning, even rain was quite foreign to her. In the North, rain was snow.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Gendry said softly from behind her. 

Arya nodded, her eyes searching the skies for more light, more colour, more life. 

“Arya…” Gendry voice sounded once again, even softer and more intimate than it already had been. 

Arya felt herself turning toward that voice without permission. Her body shifted, invited by its loving tone. She looked up at him, their eyes crashing together igniting some sort of underlying tension that they had both been ignoring for days. That spark… it was undeniable. 

“Yes,” she responded just as softly, looking up at him, his eyes sparkling with something... 

Gendry opened his mouth, licking his bottom lip, a habit Arya remember from when she had seen Gendry nervous. Her eyes followed his tongue, but she did not focus on it for long. Instead Arya interrupted, something behind to his shoulder catching her eye. 

“What’s that?” she said, moving past Gendry, pressing her hand against him to take him with her as she walked over to the western facing window. 

Gendry moved with her, turning around to identify exactly what she was looking at. 

They both peered down at the smoke that was billowing up from the ground, a glowing red ember shining from the source of the smoke. 

“Fire,” Gendry said dully before springing into action, “Fire, quick, come we must help…” 

With that the two of them began to run back down all those stairs just the way that they had come.

-

The fire was almost as spectacular as the lightning had been by the time they reached it. The glowing embers that had been small from the Lord’s tower was in actual fact a mass of deadly flames melding into one big fire. There were masses of people roaming around the fire, some hurried while others were slower. Gendry couldn’t see his uncle but he was sure he would be somewhere around here somewhere. After all he was sure that this was the reason that they had been unable to find anyone in the castle. 

He could feel Arya next to him staring up at the wall of fire. 

“The lightning must have sparked a fire,” he said, “Stay here, I’m going to go help…” 

“Not bloody likely,” he heard Arya grumble.

He glanced behind him and there she was, following not two paces behind. 

Even in the midst of it all, Gendry felt elated for a second. 

The next couple of hours were a process. The rain was helpful in dulling the fire but it was unable to extinguish it completely. Gendry worked hand in hand with the other men, moving water to put out stray fires, using heavy blankets to eliminate the oxygen from even smaller fires. It wasn’t the first time any of them had done this; fires that were started by lightning were a common occurrence when there was a big storm. 

Gendry quickly lost track of Arya amongst the masses of helpers, catching sight of her only once or twice, the second of which he had shouted at her for running into the half burnt forest to retrieve something or other. 

She was precious, he thought, didn’t she know that? 

She couldn’t risk herself like that, she couldn’t get hurt, he wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t bear it.

It was some time later when Renly finally found them. Arya was tending to the wound of a young boy who was whimpering as she gently handled his badly burnt arm. 

Renly had stormed toward them, a dark scowl on his face that was so fierce that Gendry felt a rush of fear go through him that he hadn’t felt since he was a lad. 

“Well, in the name of all the Seven, where have you been?” Renly all but shouted.

Arya looked up but Gendry answered. After all Renly was shouting at him. 

“I’m sorry, Uncle, we got carried away exploring the cliffs. Arya had never seen them and was keen to explore…” Gendry explained easily, “Then we saw the fires below us...” 

Renly pinched the bridge of his nose, his hands white as he took a deep breath in, trying to calm himself. 

“You silly boy, I was so worried. You disappeared for hours, the Gods knew what happen to the two of you,” Renly said through gritted teeth, “You can’t do that… Lord Stark would be utterly out of his mind, I am sure. And you, Gendry, you’re not some extra heir. You are a Crown Prince, act like one. Then with the fire… my mind was running rampant with what could have happened…”

Renly took another calming breath. 

“Don’t do that again,” he managed.

Both of them ducked their heads slightly in recompense, nodding sombrely. 

Renly rushed off, sparing only a brief moment that was used to command them to go back to the castle at once. Arya ignored his words, bending down to continue bandaging the boy’s arm. Gendry followed in suite, finding more men to help carry with Edric into the small shelter that had been set up for the healer. 

It was hours later when everyone finally began to make the journey back up to the castle. Renly had overseen the arrival of a few, gravely injured men who had been brought up there earlier for medical attention so the place was buzzing a lot more than it had been when they had arrived earlier. Silence was replaced by agonised screams and moaning. 

Gendry and Arya walked in silence. 

“Does that happen often?” Arya asked suddenly. 

“Fires?” Gendry posed. 

Arya nodded thoughtfully. 

“All the time,” Gendry answered. 

Arya just hummed in thought. 

“Why do you ask?” Gendry prompted. 

“I’m just curious is all,” Arya said, feeling absent minded. 

Gendry nodded, shoving down the unconvinced feeling that floated in her words. 

“I just didn’t … do you ever wish that you were Lord of Storm’s End?” 

Gendry frowned but answered her never the less. 

“As a child constantly, now I know better…” 

Arya nodded again in understanding as they reached the doors to her chambers.

“For what its worth Gendry, I would rather you be Lord of Storm’s End too.” 

With those words, she disappeared inside her chambers with only a glance in his direction and Gendry was left to ponder the meaning of her final words. 

\- 

The next couple of days were different in so many ways, yet familiar in a warm pleasant way that made Gendry’s heart ache. 

Arya was the happiest he had ever seen her. He would watch her often, thinking that this was perhaps the happiest either of them would ever be, her smiling while he watched her joy filling him. Her smiles never ceased and her laughter was so brilliant it infected everyone around her. 

Renly seemed to be lighter, bouncier. Edric smiled and talked more frequently that he usually did and Gendry of course felt his own happiness bubbling in his chest constantly. 

It would be a lie to say that he never thought about pressing Arya against a wall and kissing her until they were both a breathless, mass of shaken energy. However all those thought had been born out of superficial lust. Now he knew Arya and he knew the thoughts, the feelings, that he was having were the fruit of something a lot deeper than lust. They had been there for weeks, perhaps ever since he had first talked to her, bubbling just below the surface. Gendry had denied them, ignored them, put them down to nothing more than mere infatuation but he couldn’t do that, not any more. Not since their moment the night of the fire. Now he just wanted to give in to them. 

If this was what his father had experienced with Lyanna Stark, he could almost forgive him for everything he had done after in her name. 

When Arya kept looking at him with that smile in her eyes, he could forgive his father all.

Gendry awoke each more to see Arya practice her strange sword movements in the yard and slept only after walking her to her chambers. His every movement was to her pleasure. He took her fishing in the bay, rode with her and Edric through the sand dunes and laughed with her into the night. 

Yet they both knew that they could not stay forever in this precarious limbo that they had created and time steadily went on, drawing their departure newer with every second.

At the end of their second week at Storm’s End, a letter from the King formally requesting Gendry’s presence at court. A small note stamped with the Stark seal accompanied it. 

“Father wants me to come back to King’s Landing,” Arya said, gnawing at her lip one morning as they were walking toward the stables after breaking their fast with Renly and Edric.

“I guessed that would be the case,” Gendry replied, “We haven’t really talked about it but when were you wanting to go back to King’s Landing?” 

“Never,” Arya replied truthfully, “But we should go back soon. My father’s letter wanted me back with him, I could feel it… and in the end, I love him too much to torture him more than I already have with this spontaneous trip.” 

Gendry nodded even as his heart deflated, unrepentantly saddened by the prospect of leaving Storm’s End. 

“Perhaps the best time to return in the next couple of days. The ride back to the capital will not take us long.” 

Arya nodded immediately however Gendry got the distinct impression that she was dreading it as much as he was. 

“We best make the best of the time we have left then,” she replied, before beginning to saddle her horse. 

Gendry nodded in agreement. 

They did go on to make the best of their day. 

They waded through the waves in Shipbreakers Bay, Arya laughing as she almost got pulled out to sea more than once, getting lost in the beauty of the waves. 

Gendry showed her the rock pools next to the bay, helping her frighten an octopus out of its hidden, rock cocoon. 

They even visited the old burnt Godswood, in which Arya made scornful, disbarging remarks that favoured Winterfell’s Godswood. 

They talked and laughed and Gendry had never felt so happy and comfortable in his life. He felt at peace and more than once he wished that this could be his life. Not the Crown, not Sansa or whoever his father chose for him to marry but this. However time would not stop it’s slow beating drum for any man, not even a crown prince and within what felt like minutes, he was saddling up Dalliance for the ride back to King’s Landing. 

-

As the Red Keep drew closer, Arya felt her heart sink further and further into a rusty tin inside chest. She found reasons to pull over, stopping for a drink one time and a rest another time yet still they proceeded towards the gates of the doomed capital. 

Even Arya’s horse seemed to drag her feet, each clip of her hooves becoming slower as time when on. 

Their time at Storm’s End had just been so… so brilliant. There had been no expectations, no demands for her to be someone she was not. She was just Arya, frolicking around the Stormlands with Gendry in complete and utter happiness. She had been happy, she had been free and a part of her was scared she would never be that happy again. 

Even if Father forces me to marry Lord Dayne, at least I got to experience this, Arya thought in relief, at least I got to have all this… 

Arya wasn’t quite sure what she was referring to but her eyes flickered up to Gendry without hesitation. She owed this all to him. To his kindness and his thoughtful nature. She felt her heart swell like it always did as she looked upon him. 

They had entered the Kingwoods when Arya felt a need to stay something. To express her gratitude to him for all that he had done and more importantly, to tell him that if he loved her, she thought she might love him too. 

“Wait, Gendry,” Arya called before dismounting. 

They sat at the edge of the forest. There was no one for miles. They were alone, silent and at ease.

Gendry turned to face her before dismounting himself. He smiled at her. 

“Yes?” he asked, “if this is you trying to avoid the Red Keep for a while longer…” 

“No it’s nothing like that,” Arya interrupted with a conspiratorial smirk, “Although that is definitely an advantage.” 

Gendry laughed. 

His laugh was so rich, genuine. Arya knew as soon as they reached King’s Landing it would become dry and cracked. The venomous nature of the Red Keep had its ways of seeping in and destroying even the happiest of things. 

“No I just wanted to thank you again,” Arya said, coming closer to him, until she leant against his horse, stroking it absentmindedly, “Our time at Storm’s End…” 

Arya sighed in contentment. 

“Was wonderful.” 

Gendry was watching her. She didn’t even have to look at him to know he was watching her. 

Suddenly his face was swimming before her. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for days,” he whispered. 

Arya knew what he wanted. She wanted it too and that was him asking her permission. 

“Me too,” she replied just as quietly. 

Gendry smiled before his face surged forward and their lips met. 

Their first kiss had been so chaste, sweet and simple, but this kiss, this kiss was nothing like the first. The sparks that coursed between them from the first touch of their lips intensified as it went on and Arya felt herself closing her eyes in pleasure. 

She felt Gendry’s arm lips around her waist, pulling her body against his. His tongue nudged her lips and she opened her mouth, immediately taken aback by the pleasure of their tongues dancing together. 

Arya groaned as Gendry’s tongue moved with hers. In response, he lifted her slightly, pressing her body even more urgently against his own. They melded together, moving in synchronicity, in pleasure, which only further intensified when Gendry moved away from her mouth, beginning to suckle wet kisses into her throat. It was only then, in the absence of pleasure that Arya remembered herself. 

“Gendry.” 

Gently she pulled Gendry face from her neck, sighing as he leant forward, pressing a brief kiss to her lips before drawing back. Arya rested her forehead against Gendry’s, looking deep into his eyes. 

“Sansa,” she reminded him in a whisper. 

“I would rather marry you,” he said. 

“I would rather never marry,” Arya said dryly, wondering how true that was.

Gendry smiled at her but it wasn’t a happy smile. 

“I still think it’s time my father realised that I won’t be marrying your sister, even if I will not be marrying you.” 

He paused, sucking in a deep breath that Arya could feel go through his chest. They were still pressed so intimately against each other. 

“We should get back,” he said slowly, barely moving away from her. 

Arya nodded. They stayed like they were for a moment, just with each other before they parted. 

Arya followed him listlessly back to King’s Landing with so much happiness in her heart, yet even more disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really appreciate any sort of comments you leave!! Genuinely! If its it complimentary it makes my day! If not, I love taking it on board, so let me know! xxxx


	11. Authors Note PLEASE READ!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hELP me

Hi All! 

So I really need some advice! 

I am a total perfectionist and when I read the start of this fic, I legitimately cringe at how terrible it is. My writing, the storyline, even the title, nothing is to my liking. So I need some advice, should I take this down and completely re-write or just keep writing and finish off the story as it is! 

Please please let me know! I am stuck on this! 

thank you so much, 

Mia xxx


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